


Those Magic Extras

by Marzos



Series: That's Show Business [2]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, For fans of Those Magic Changes, Gen, extra content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 25,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4162356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marzos/pseuds/Marzos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Companion pieces to my fanfiction Those Magic Changes. Every one shot here took place before or during the events of the fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Betty

**Author's Note:**

> Names of the chapters are which characters POV I am using.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place Carmilla's freshman year.

You started teaching at an inner city school, so if there’s one thing you’re good at, it’s working with difficult kids. So it’s no surprise that when someone needs to watch a chronic troublemaker while she serves detention time after school, they volunteer you.

Her name is Carmilla Karnstein. A freshman with a bad temper, already getting two days worth of detention when you were barely starting the school year. You have a feeling the punishment would have been a lot worse if she wasn’t the Principal’s daughter.

Day one: Carmilla saunters into your classroom. Puts her feet up on one of the desks and pops her headphones in.

“Hey, Miss Karnstein, no headphones. Detention is supposed to be boring.”

She glares at you, but takes them out, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. You don’t mention her feet on the desk; you had to pick your battles after all. You open your notebook and try to get some work done.

Carmilla starts rapping a staccato rhythm on the desk. You look at her again; it turns into a staring contest.

“…Seriously, I can’t even make  _noise_.”

“It’s Principal’s orders that I don’t treat you any different than any other student. Take it up with her.”

She pouts again and crosses her arms. “Whatever.”

You’re about to chide her for her attitude when your cellphone rings.

“Hello? Wait, you’re done  _already_? And you’re at the school? You seriously can’t wait? I’m kind of busy…you can’t come back until next week…fine. Fine, I’m still here anyway.”

You hang up and look at your little freshman prisoner, who is looking at you curiously.

“…Change of plans Carmilla, we are going on a field trip.”

* * *

 

It’s a terrible auditorium. The curtains don’t close, the seats are wood, and you’re pretty sure the carpet hasn’t been cleaned since the founding of the school. The only good thing it had was a grand piano, which you’d sent to be tuned and repaired.

“Remind me why we’re here?”

“They finished the piano and I need to open the door for them, or they won’t be able to come back before the auditions for our show.” You open the side door, and you see the delivery men there. “Thanks guys! Come in.” Carmilla is looking at the music books and scripts you have scattered about the stage. When you look at the bill, your eyes widen.

“I am not paying this much–that chip was your fault–” You stop and look at Carmilla. “He, can you excuse me for a second? Try not to escape or set anything on fire.”

Carmilla rolls her eyes and flashes the devil’s horns sign at you. You step outside, close the door, and argue with them for about five minutes. In the end you get the bill cut down to a price you’re comfortable with.

You poke your head inside. “Okay, I don’t smell smoke, so that’s good–” You stop. Carmilla is at the piano, book open, playing the keys softly.

“…As the radio plays old Forgotten boleros I think of the days when this city was mine. I remember the praise,  _ay, te adoro, te quiero_. The neighborhood waved and said ‘Nina, be brave and you’re gonna be fine’–”

“I didn’t know you were familiar with In the Heights.”

She freezes and looks at you.

“…Just that song,” she grumbles, “Rap is not musical theatre. Nothing can convince me otherwise.”

“Bit pretentious of you, isn’t it?”

“Well, all of my teachers think I’m a  _dick_  anyway, so.” You’re startled by the sudden venom in her voice.

“Whoa, Carmilla,” you hold your hands up. “I don’t think that.”

 _“Really?”_  She say, sarcasm so thick you could have cut it with a knife.

“Yes, really.” And all of a sudden you feel like you actually believe it; like under that layer of eyeliner and sarcasm she’s hiding something. “I think you’re bright. There’s a reason you have a reputation for being a smartass and not a dumb one. In fact, I think you’re bright enough to know how to avoid detention if you wanted to.”

Carmilla averts her gaze. “…It beats being home.” She mumbles, and there it is. Your gaze softens.

“You are a bright kid, with a fantastic voice.” You say again, because you have a feeling she hasn’t been complimented in a long time. “In fact, tomorrow you are coming down here for detention.”

* * *

 

She walks in, and the first thing you do is hand her a stack of piano music and say, “Go crazy. This is just as boring for me, so you’re going to entertain me.”

Carmilla looks suspicious, but she starts playing anyway.

“Any formal training?”

“A little. Mostly classical.”

You nod. “Well, your voice is pretty versatile.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s too bad you can’t audition next week. You’d be good in In the Heights. As Vanessa, maybe even Nina.”

Carmilla pauses her playing. “You think so?” She asks, trying to sound disinterested and failing.

“Well, yeah, but you hate the show, so you wouldn’t even want to. And,” You add pointedly, “I’m not casting someone in my show if they’re going to fail conduct and get kicked out anyway.”

You check the watch on your wrist. “Well, looks like detention is over. I’d say I hope I see you again, but that would mean you getting into trouble.”

Carmilla gets up and prepares to leave. She has one foot out the door before she turns around.

“Mrs. Spielsdorf?”

You look up from organizing the music books. “Yeah?”

“If I…if I don’t get in trouble the rest of this week and next week, can I audition? I mean,” here she crosses her arms, “the show is fun if you’re in it. I guess.”

You smile. “Absolutely. Auditions next Friday, right after school.”

She turns abruptly and leaves.

Not bad for being new on the job, Betty. Not bad.

* * *

 

“…Really good Ell. Nice job.”

She waves at you and tells you goodbye. You look at your chart. Auditions run until five and time is up for Carmilla. You sigh; you hadn’t heard about her getting into any trouble. But maybe another teacher was running detention this week. Or maybe she changed her mind. You get up to leave–

“Mrs. Spielsdorf!”

You see her running down aisle; hair a mess, twigs in it, breathing heavily. She rests her hands on her knees.

“Sorry–Mother–told me I couldn’t go–snuck out–”

You could get into a lot of trouble if you let her audition then.

But someone needed to go to bat for this kid, and who would it be if not you?

“But no detentions, right?”

“No…my record’s been clean all week…”

“…If she asks, you didn’t tell me.”

Carmilla grins and walks onto the stage. “…Thanks…one second…I’ll be singing ‘Breathe’…song from the show alright?”

“All things considering, I’ll give you a pass.”

As soon as she starts singing, you underline her name three times. And circle it.


	2. Ell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place right after Carmilla and Ell graduate.

Carmilla is laughing, pulling you by the hand, and you struggle not to stumble in your graduation gown.

“Ell, did you remember to bring the backpack?”

“Kitten, are you  _sure_  this is a good idea?”

Carmilla stops. She turns to face you. “You’re still hung up on this?”

“It’s just, we graduated barely ten minutes ago, if we get caught–”

“We will be fine, Ell. Hey,” Carmilla grabs you by the hips. “If it gets you on board, I can make it worth your while, babe.”

“O-oh.” And you try to take her chin in your hand and kiss her, but before you can Carmilla pushes back.

“Sorry, no kissing until we’re outside the town limits, and we’re not leaving until this gets done.” She smirks. “That got you motivated?”

“Oh my God,  _fine_ , I hid it behind the bushes at the bottom of the stairs.” You bite your lip. and Carmilla laughs, taking your arm and wrapping it around her shoulders as you both walk out the doors and down the stairs.

“Come  _on_ , cinnamon roll. My mother is in there giving a long winded speech to all the graduates. We’ll be riding my motorcycle into the sunset before she even knows we’re gone.”

“I don’t like revenge schemes, Carm. I’d rather skip to the ‘ride into the sunset part’. You know, the happy ending?” You try what Carmilla calls your ‘trademark puppy-dog eyes’. She groans but holds firm. 

“This  _is_  the beginning of the happy ending, Ell. Now,” she searches the bushes, and grins when she finds the backpack and throws it to you. Unzipping it, you can’t help but smile as she rubs her hands together in anticipation. You’re amazed that people don’t find her as adorable as you do.

“Alright, here they are.” You hold up the first of several egg cartons. “Which car is your mom’s?”

“She’s got her own parking spot–it’s right there. Mother’s precious Jaguar.”

It  _is_  a really nice car, which makes you feel even worse. What did the car ever do to you?

Okay, now you’re flailing for reasons not to do this. Carmilla grabs an egg from the carton, jokingly winding up like a pitcher.

“Alright…this one is for calling me a disappointment on a daily basis!” She throws it. It breaks, but she frowns.

“That doesn’t look right…wait. Ell, did you hard boil the eggs?”

“What, you’re not supposed to?”

“ _No_ , you’re not supposed to!”

“Well I never egged anything before!” You answer indignantly.”Maybe you should have done it then!”

“You know what? It’s fine.” Carmilla answers, face palming before grabbing another egg. “We just need to throw them,” she hurls another with a grunt, “ _harder_.” This time pieces of creamy yolk stick to the window. She hands one to you.

“Come on Ell, live a little!”

“Oh, Kitten, I don’t know…”

“It’s easy. Just think of something she did to piss you off and throw. I can think of about fifty reasons you can use if you want.”

You take an egg in your hand, rolling it around in your fingers, trying to find something. Not that there weren’t any–that’s absurd–it’s that there are  _so many_  that you can’t think of just one.

“This is for…for…” You see Carmilla, looking at you with a bemused smile. You take a breath. “This is for not loving your daughter as much as I do!”

You hurl the egg at the car and immediately start laughing. “You’re right Carm, that is really satisfying!” Carmilla can’t help but give you a kiss on the cheek.

“Aww, even when you’re egging a car you find a way to make it adorable.” Carmilla answers. “Let’s get the rest of these done and get out of here.”

You both start throwing eggs, two at a time. You’re down to the last carton, and you’re about to throw the first egg from it, when you both hear a voice from behind you.

_“What do you two think you’re doing?”_

You both freeze and turn to face Principal Morgan.

“…Principal Morgan. Hi.” You squeak.

“Mother. Hey. We have a very good explanation for–ELL RUN FOR YOU LIFE GET ON MY MOTORCYCLE RIGHT NOW.”

She doesn’t need to tell you twice–you grab the backpack and start running and throw the egg at Principal Morgan for good measure. It splatters all over her face and your eyes widen.

“Oh my God, I accidentally brought the carton I was going to leave in my fridge that I didn’t boil, I am so sorry–”

Carmilla grabs the eggs and starts throwing them. “Why are you apologizing? THIS IS SELF DEFENSE.”

And you look at her, and with a shout you throw the entire carton over your shoulder, hitting Principal Morgan in the face.

“…I love you so much, you know that?” Carmilla says, as you both jump onto her motorcycle. “Okay babe, you drive.”

“Wait, I never–”

“We don’t have time for this Ell!”

You start the motorcycle and it jerks forward.

“YES! This is what I thought of this school, you homophobic bitch!”

“Carmilla, are you seriously giving your mother the–”

“Yes, and eyes on the road babe.” She answers, cackling gleefully. “Oh man, we have done it now!”

You have dated Carmilla for two years, and still managed to maintain your straight-A average and squeaky clean reputation.

Within ten minutes you’ve become the girl who ran out of graduation, egged the principal’s car, and then drove away on a motorcycle. After throwing a carton of eggs in her face.

And you have decided to potentially spend the rest of your life with the woman who talked you into all of that.

Best decision of your life.


	3. Laura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starts out when Laura is twelve. Then there's a time skip to the night after Carmilla decides to direct the show.

So, Mom feels sick again. 

She’s been in ‘remission’ for a few months. At least she’s supposed to be, because she’s still  _acting_ sick, and Daddy keeps talking to the doctor over the phone, hanging up every time looking tired and frustrated. 

It takes time, they keep saying. The side effects of chemotherapy didn’t magically stop as soon as the cancer was gone. 

“But Mom, we were gonna’ see the show!” Mom looks at you. She’s wearing the hat you had gotten her two years ago, when she had a relapse for the second time and you wanted to make her feel better about losing her hair again. It’s a beanie with Rent lyrics on it.  _No Day But Today._ Which you were really excited to have her wear, since that’s what you’re going to see tonight. Or were. 

“I’m sorry honey, but I don’t feel up to it. Charlie?” 

Daddy walks into the bedroom with a cup of water and some alkaseltzer. “Yes, Tracy?” 

“Can you take Laura to the show tonight, honey?” 

“The show?” 

“At the High School. Rent. It’s all Laura has been talking about for weeks, Charlie, remember?” 

“Oh.” Daddy frowns. “Tracy, are you  _sure_ that show is appropriate for Laura?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Charlie. A dozen school boys get shot in Les Mis and you didn’t bat an eye when Laura went to see that.” 

“Daddy,” you wine, “I’m  _twelve_. Don’t treat me like a baby.” 

And, of course, Daddy smiles, shaking his head. “Alright. Will you be okay, Tracy?” 

“I’ve been pregnant, Charlie, this nausea is nothing.” Mom grabs the cup and the alkaseltzer, taking it and downing it in one gulp. “Now, Laura, you should go before you’re late. Dad will take you.” 

“I’ll be in the car, Laura,” Daddy says, leaving the room. 

“But Mom, why can’t you go? I thought you were  _better_.” 

Mom sighs. “Honey, it’s…it’s complicated. I  _am_  better, but my body is still tired.” 

You don’t believe her anymore. She lied the first time when she said she probably just had a fever, she lied the second time when she said the doctors got rid of it all, and how do you know she’s telling the truth now? 

Mom looks at you, biting her lip, and then sighs. “Laura, honey, can you do something for me at the show?” She asks, as she pulls you in close for a hug. 

“Sure, Mom. Anything.” 

“The girl who’s playing Maureen in the show was one of my students,” Mom takes her hat off her head, revealing very short brown hair. “And I am  _very_ proud of her now, because I know she’s been going through a rough time with her parents, poor thing. I want you to give her this hat.” 

“My hat that I made you? Why?” 

“To congratulate her, dear, since the hat has Rent lyrics on it. I want you to give it to her and tell her it’s a gift from Mrs. Summers, alright?” 

“But…I made it for you…” 

“And I don’t need it anymore, Laura, because  _I’m not sick._  Okay?” 

You take the hat, feeling the material in your hands, nodding silently. 

“Good. I love you, sweetie, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” 

“That’s the problem.” 

Mom laughs, gives you a peck on the cheek, and you go. 

* * *

 

You take your job very seriously. Your eyes are glued to Carmilla–the girl playing Maureen–in every scene she is in, even when she’s not doing anything. You want to make sure you know exactly where she is when the show ends. 

It’s a fantastic show. You’re too young to understand some of it, especially since Daddy refuses to answer your questions about it. 

“…Maureen’s performance,” the actor playing Mark says, and the spotlight illuminates Carmilla onstage, armed with a stick and cowbell. 

“Last night, I had a dream. I was in a desert called  _Cyberland._ My canteen had sprung a leak and I was–” Here she grabbed her throat. “–Thirsty. Out of the abyss walked a cow. Elsie. I asked if she had anything to drink. She said–” 

Here she paused for a fraction of a second and began to riff. “I am forbidden to produce  _milk._ In Cyberland we only drink–” She banged on the cowbell. 

“– _Diet coke!”_

“What is going on?” Daddy whispers, and you shush him. Honestly, you don’t know either, but you can tell that whatever Carmilla is doing, it’s special. If your mom wants you to give her a present, she  _must_ be.

When the show ends, you rush out to the lobby, hat in hand. Everyone in the cast is walking out to meet friends. You see Mark, Roger, Mimi…but no Maureen. You try to get to the hallway that leads to backstage, when you’re stopped by the director. 

“Kid, you can’t go back there.” 

“I  _need_ to. Is Carmilla back there?” 

“Do you know her?” 

“Well…no…but I need to see her!” You try and run past her, but she stops you. You’re about to throw a temper tantrum when another girl behind you speaks.

“…Mrs. Spielsdorf, is something wrong?” 

You recognize her from the show. Joanne. She smiles softly. “Are you alright?” 

“…This kid is trying to see Carmilla.” 

“Oh. Well, I can tell her you liked her performance if–” 

“ _No,”_ You walk up to her, showing her the hat. “My mom, she’s  _sick_ , and she wanted to give Carmilla this hat because she’s proud of her, she was her music teacher, and I’m supposed to give it to her.” 

Her gaze, already soft, melts. “Can I see that, sweetie? I think I can help.” 

Mrs. Spielsdorf leaves. You hand the girl the hat. 

“Honey, Carmilla has…personal reasons for not being able to walk out right now. But I’m Ell and we’re…we’re very good friends. I can give the hat to her and tell her your mom sent it.” 

“I really want to make sure she got it…” 

“I will make sure,” she says firmly, “I promise.” 

She smiles at you, and she smells like honey, and it makes you want to trust her. Besides, you can hear Dad calling you. 

“Okay. Thank you…?”

“Ell.” 

“Thank you Miss Ell,” you amend, remembering what you learned from Mom about being polite to older kids. 

“Laura! Where have you been?” Daddy grabs you by the wrist. “Don’t run off like that, okay?” 

“She was just congratulating me on the show, sir,” Ell says, “Your daughter is very sweet. I’m glad she liked it.” 

“Oh. Thank you.” Daddy answers, his gruffness ebbing somewhat. “You  _were_ very good. My wife would probably be better at telling you though…” 

“It’s okay. Have a good night!” 

As Dad drags you away, you see Ell take the hat and walk purposefully backstage. 

* * *

##  **Six Years Later**

She did it. For  _you._

For  _you_ , even though she didn’t even know you that long, even though she hadn’t spoken to Mom in years, even though you weren’t being that friendly toward her after she tried to tell you to quit acting…

You flop down on your bed. You’ve been going through a  _lot_ of emotions with her. You know you  _like_ her, but it’s a weird sort of like. Even when you didn’t like her you kind of got this…pleasantly, uncomfortable feeling? But that doesn’t even make sense…it was like butterflies you guess…

 _Ugh._ No. You will not go there. You’ve had enough problems without having to pile being gay on top of it all. 

Will likes you. You both had fun at homecoming. He was really sweet, he brought you flowers, he was quarterback of the football team. Every girl in school was jealous of you. 

He was okay when you didn’t want to kiss him at the end of the night. 

You need to take your mind off of things. You take your laptop and start browsing the internet. 

Does Miss Karnstein have social media? 

No, wait, you are  _not_ going to get over this…this  _talent crush_ (because it’s totally just a talent crush, not a crush crush) if you’re creeping on her social media. 

But your fingers must be ignoring your brain today, because you’re typing her name into google as you think of it. Predictably, there aren’t a lot of Carmilla Karnsteins in the world, and you find her instagram at the top of the page. 

_Okay, one quick look, anyone would be curious about a new teacher, don’t be a creeper…_

But one look was all you needed to take. 

The first picture on the page. A selfie. You laugh at the idea of your teacher taking a bathroom selfie, but as you click on it your breath hitches. 

_Heard some sad news today. i’m extremely late to the party, but a former mentor passed away after a pretty long battle with cancer. Even after we lost touch she let me know she was supporting me. #RIP #NoDayButToday_

She’s wearing the Rent beanie. It can’t be a coincidence. 

That girl from the show remembered to give her the beanie. 

 _Miss Karnstein_ remembered the beanie, she remembered Mom, and she made a post about it. She cared. 

A warm feeling settles in the pit of your stomach like hot embers, and heat rises, so of course it spreads up your body until you can’t lie to yourself anymore. The huge, dopey grin disappears and you groan, falling back on the bed, grabbing your yellow pillow, and burying your face in it. 

“Worst. Crush.  _Ever.”_


	4. Laura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place Laura's freshman year.

Your teacher asking you why you didn’t do your homework  _again_ is what finally sets you off. 

“Laura, you haven’t done any of your homework assignments this year,” Mrs. Cochrane tells you, “I understand you have been going through a difficult time with the passing of your mother–” 

Maybe it’s that she’s doing this in front of the entire class. Maybe it would have happened anyway because you’re sick of hearing it. Either way, you can’t hold in your anger any longer. 

“Why can’t you all just  _leave me alone?”_ You exclaim. 

You can vaguely hear Perry and Danny trying to calm you down on either side of you, but you ignore it. “This homework is  _stupid._ Going to school is  _stupid._ None of this matters! Nothing matters! Why should I outline a chapter of  _To Kill a Mockingbird_ when my mom is  _dead_ ,  and I can barely sleep anymore and…and…” 

But anger, while something your not a stranger to, is also not something you can keep up for too long. There’s tears stinging your eyes and you’ve realized you’re up out of your seat and everyone is staring. Mrs. Cochrane looks shocked. 

“I…I…I’m sorry,” you mumble. 

“Ms. Hollis, come with me.” 

_Oh no._

You stare down at the floor to ignore the stares and pitiful looks from your friends. Mrs. Cochrane doesn’t look angry, which you guess is a good thing. But it’s not a good thing that she’s making you walk into the principal’s office. 

“Oh my God. Mrs. Cochrane,  _please,_ anything but Principal Morgan, I’ll do whatever you want, just give me a detention, I swear I’ll do the homework–” 

“Laura, sit down.” 

You continue to babble apologies as you sit down, shaking, in one of the seats. 

There’s a window on the door, and you see Mrs. Cochrane is talking to someone outside. After a few minutes the door opens. The woman she was talking to walks in. 

“Hey, kid,” she says. The woman seems nice. And familiar. She smiles at you and you relax a little. “Can I sit down next to you for a minute?” 

“Uh…sure.” 

She does. She hums to herself for a moment. 

“So…first of all, Principal Morgan is out today.”

You breathe a sigh of relief and she laughs. “Yeah, I thought you needed that. I’m Mrs. Spielsdorf, by the way.” 

“I’m Laura. And I recognize you. You run the theatre department,” 

“Do you want to know why I’m here, Laura?” 

“…Because I yelled at Mrs. Cochrane?” 

“Sort of. Well, I saw Mrs. Cochrane drag you in here, and she said she was going to call Principal Morgan. I was  _not_  about to let that happen, especially after she told me it was  _Laura Hollis.”_

You look at her. Really?

“I definitely recognized you,” Mrs. Spielsdorf  continues, “You’ve been to every show Silas has done since I started here. You did not seem like the kind of kid who would cause trouble. Mrs. Cochrane agreed.”

You nod. 

“So…Laura, you seem kind of down.” 

“Kind of down is an understatement,” you mumble.  

“Want to talk about it?” She asks you gently. You stare down at your hands, folded tightly in your lap. Mrs. Spielsdorf continues. 

“Because I imagine it’s difficult for your father to talk about her. So getting to work through it at home must be…challenging.”

“I…I’m just tired.” 

Mrs. Spielsdorf nods. “Of school?” 

“Not  _of_ anything. Just tired. I haven’t been able to sleep at night.. I can’t do it. Everytime I go to bed I have nightmares…”

And because Mrs. Spielsdorf is being so nice, and quiet, and listening so attentively, it all comes pouring out. 

“And I can’t eat too much, because even eating a little bit makes me feel sick, because I feel sick to my stomach  _all the time_ anyway. And my friends are used to me being happy all the time, so they don’t know how to help, and I feel guilty because I’m making them feel bad for not being sure what to do and…and teachers are still assigning homework and expecting me to pay attention, like what happened doesn’t matter. But it  _does_ matter. I don’t know why life hasn’t just stopped for awhile. Because it feels like it. For me.”

You start to cry. You feel a hand lay on your back and you’re turning into Mrs. Spielsdorf and crying into her shoulder. 

“…I knew your mother. I talked to her a few times. She was a fantastic woman.” 

“I–I know. She was.” 

“And I want to help. See, the thing is that I have kind of a reputation for working with kids with home problems.” 

You lean back, wiping your nose on your sleeve; you don’t care that it’s gross. “You want to work with me?” 

“Every thought of doing musical theatre?” 

“I want to be an actress. Or I wanted to. I don’t know now. It’s hard to do it and think about my mom…” 

“Would you like to come to a rehearsal?” She asks. 

“I’d like to try,” you answer, sniffling. 

“Do you feel up to going back to class?” 

You shake your head.

“…Want to go to the auditorium and sleep this off?” 

You nod, flashing a weak smile. 

“Come on, then. I’ll call Mrs. Cochrane and tell her.” 

As you get up and follow Mrs. Spielsdorf out, you still feel awful–you think you’ll always, deep down, feel awful–but for the first time in months, you think you might be able to sleep. 


	5. Danny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place the night after chapter 10

Maybe it’s because you were the first of your friends to come out (LaFontaine was still going by ‘Susan’ until junior year) or the fact that you’ve been best friends with Laura since eight grade and know her better than anyone else. 

Either way, you’ve always kind of known. Of course you’d never tell anyone, least of all Laura, because sexuality is such a personal thing…

Even if it’s hard to watch her squirming uncomfortably at LaFontaine’s teasing about Will. 

Even if it is so totally  _obvious_ to you why she is failing English, but you can’t say anything. Because honestly, if there was any doubt before now that Laura is gay, the way she looks at and talks about Miss Karnstein has made it pretty obvious. 

Plus, you don’t really like Miss Karnstein. She’s bitter, constantly in a bad mood, and has kind of this ‘too cool for you’ attitude. 

And now she’s been kicked out of rehearsals, and you want to do  _something_ for her, because she’s your best friend, and theatre is something so deep and personal for Laura that you know that it’s killing her to not be allowed to do it. So, you call her the next night. 

“…Laura?” 

“Danny, what? It’s nine o’clock at night…” 

“Are you grounded?” 

“No. Dad is mad, but I think he’s literally incapable of punishing me…” you hear Laura’s voice catch, “Plus my own guilt is kind of enough of a punishment.” 

“Laura, you are coming out tonight then. My house. LaF and Perry will be there.” 

“I don’t know.” 

“They’ll be  _snacks._ Sugary snacks.” 

“…I’ll bring my vocab book and tell Dad we’re studying.” 

And that is how you are all in your bedroom, sitting in various lounging positions on beanbag chairs and your bed, watching the sing-along of the Les Mis movie. 

You’re in the middle of a scene when you hear the oven alarm. 

“Oooh! That’s my brownies! I need to start making the cookies now,” Perry grabs LaFontaine’s hand, “Can you help, hon?” 

“Sure, Perr. Pause the movie guys?” 

“No problem,” you answer, pressing pause on the remote. LaFontaine and Perry leave. Laura–who’s sitting on your bed at the moment with you leaning your back against it on the floor–flops on her back and pulls out her vocab book. 

“Laura, are studying now?” 

“I kind of  _have_ to, Danny.” 

“Laura, this night was about forgetting about it and de-stressing you.” 

“Maybe stress is good for me. I need to study, Danny. I’m letting everyone down. Will, and Kirsch,  _you,_ Miss Karnstein…I mean it’s  _her_ class I’m failing–” 

“Hollis, listen to me,” you get up and sit next to her on the bed. “I am your best friend, and it is  my job to make you happy. Tonight you are not allowed to feel bad. You can feel sick from eating too many brownies, maybe, but not sad.” 

You think that will make her feel better. But when Laura sits up, she looks annoyed. Almost angry. 

“Uh…Laur?” 

“I’m sorry feeling sad is uncomfortable for you,” she says. 

“Laura, I didn’t mean–”

“No, I get it. Because I’m the happy one. I’m bubbly, optimistic Laura. I’m not super depressed like freshman year, right? And I used up my quota of sadness?” 

“That  _isn’t what I meant.”_

Laura stops. “…Well, I’m sorry. I know it isn’t but…but it feels like that sometimes, you know? I feel like whenever I’m not happy everyone gets  _super_ careful around me. Like they’re afraid that I’m going to go back  _there._ And I’m not, Danny. Sometimes I just need to be sad for a little bit, you know?” 

You don’t know what to say. You really thought that you were just being a good friend. And yes, you get worried when Laura is upset, and sure, you can’t help but remember freshman year and how much you don’t want Laura to go back to that…

Laura hugs her knees to her chest and looks away. She mutters, “That’s why I like Miss Karnstein. I can be in a bad mood around her. She doesn’t think of me as the girl who’s mom died. And she listens to me when I’m upset. Doesn’t try to shut me down because it’s uncomfortable.” 

You remember that they had a conversation about her grade that day. You wonder what was said. 

Also…you need to be really careful now. Because you had a crush on Laura, and you managed to convince yourself that you were over her, but all of this is making it hard not to have a crush on her again…

And, you have to admit begrudgingly, you can kind of understand why Laura might like Miss Karnstein. You get it. 

“…Laura, I’m sorry. You know you can tell me anything. I promise, I won’t try and change the topic or anything. You’re my best friend and…and I love you no matter what.” 

Laura is looking at you now. “I know you do. You’re my best friend too.” She bites her lower lip. “Danny, I should tell you–” 

The door to your bedroom opens and you come seriously close to cursing out loud. 

“We have  _brownies!”_ Perry exclaims; LaFontaine has already started eating them. Laura grins. 

“Oh man, Perry, they look delicious as always!” Perry hands them out. You take one and force a smile. 

“Well, we starting the movie again guys?” LaFontaine asks. You nod and start it again. 

The next scene is Samantha Barks doing ‘On My Own’. How ironic. 


	6. Ell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place Ell and Carmilla's sophomore year.

You’re buried in your locker, organizing your books. When you close the locker, there’s Carmilla. 

“Carm!” 

She’s leaning against the locker next to you, smirking, wearing a letterman jacket that she got from Lord knows where. She doesn’t do any sports, does she? No, of course not. 

“And a lovely morning to you, Cinnamon Roll.” 

“What do you want?” 

“Oh, mine was good. Had to skip breakfast because I was late, but I got something from the vending machine, so–”

“Carmilla, listen. I have to study for a test, so I really should go…”

“Fine, fine,” Carmilla slowly saunters away, looking back at you. “I was just wondering if you wanted to go up to the loft with me before homeroom.”

You look at her. “Go to the loft?” 

“Yeah. You know, to,” here she wiggles her eyebrows. “ _Run lines?”_

“Oh my God, Carm,” you walk forward, taking her hand, “If you want to keep your  _little secret,_ you probably shouldn’t be blatantly flirting with the out lesbian.” 

“You’re the one holding my hand, cutie.” 

You let go. 

“Now, Ell, don’t you have a test to study for, or…?” 

She is still standing in front of you, dark bangs spilling over her forehead, hands in the pockets of her jacket, smiling dangerously. Even if you wanted to study you wouldn’t be able to concentrate now. 

“It can wait. Come on.” 

## ******

You’ve been doing this… _thing_ for a few weeks now. And it’s great. Just…confusing. 

She’s laying on top of you on the couch in the loft, kissing you lazily, one hand trailing up and down your arm making goosebumps as she does so. You wonder how she can be  _so good_ when, according to her, you are the first girl she’s kissed. 

 _Practice,_ you think, but you don’t let yourself think about that. 

“…Hold on, cutie, it’s hot up here with this on.” She sits up, taking the jacket off and throwing it on the floor next to you. 

“Where did you get that jacket?” You ask. 

Carmilla props herself on her elbows, laying back down so that her face is inches from yours. “One of my numerous boyfriends. Mother doesn’t  _care_ if I’m a slut as long as it’s with men, apparently.” She goes to kiss you again, and you let her get in a peck on the lips before you scoot back. 

“Kitten, wait,” 

Carmilla gives an little impatient whine before sitting up herself. “Yes, cinnabon? And may I remind you we don’t have a ton of time here.” 

“I…I’m just curious. I didn’t know you had  _boyfriends.”_

She shrugs.  _“_ There will always be boys in letterman jackets flirting with me. Give me a break.” 

“Stop making Rent references, Carmilla, I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you!” 

Carmilla gives you a look. She sighs, moving some fringe from her eyes, scooting closer toward you. “Alright. I am going to regret this, but  _what’s wrong?”_

You take a breath.  _“_ Look…you can’t come out because of your mom, and I get that. I  _really_ do. And I totally believe you when you say that if it wasn’t for her, you’d be announcing that you’re gay over the intercom.”

Carmilla nods. “Then what is the problem?” 

“Well…I mean…I understand that this  _thing_ we have has to be a secret. I just don’t understand what this thing  _is_. You know what I mean?” 

“Aaaah. Feeling a little insecure about my ‘boyfriend’ comment?” 

You bite your lip. You feel kind of stupid now, but you’ve been wondering this, and there’s no point in stopping now. “A little, yeah. I just…I thought we were  _exclusive,_ you know? As in, monogamous. As in, you know–”

Carmilla is smiling at you, shaking her head. “Oh my God, you insecure little cinnamon roll. Come on,” she puts an arm around you; you’re taller but you manage to snuggle into her side so she can put her chin on top of your head. 

“First of all,  _boyfriends_ might be a bit of a strong term. ‘Flirtations’ would be better. I do not sleep with nor kiss these boys. Kind of gave up on the whole ‘force myself to be straight’ thing. They give me the gifts anyway, though. I’m just that hot.” 

You snort. 

“Didn’t hear you laughing a moment ago, cutie.  _Anyway_ …what you are wondering is if you are my girlfriend. That right?” 

“Yes,” you answer, trying not to show too much excitement and relief in your voice. 

Carmilla hums a little to herself as she considers the question. “Hate to break it to you, Ell, but I’m not sure.” 

“How can you not be sure? You certainly like me. This whole kissing thing is going well…”

“Oh,  _exceptionally_ well. But we are very different people, cutie, and I would hate for my punk, rebellious nature to ruin your perfect cinnamon roll image.” 

“So…what you’re saying is, I need to prove that I can keep up with you? That I can be…you know…a badass?” 

“I guess so,” Carmilla answers, amused. Distantly you both hear a bell ring. “Well, homeroom in five minutes.” 

“Will you meet me back here tomorrow? I’ll show you I can be a badass.” 

She gives you a kiss on the top of the head before getting off the couch and grabbing the jacket, putting it back on. “Oh, I will _love_  to see that. Sure, cinnabon. See you tomorrow.” 

As she shimmies down the ladder, you wonder if this idea you have is absolutely insane. 

* * *

 

“Wow, Carmilla, I didn’t think you’d actually be up here early!” 

“I wouldn’t miss your grand demonstration of rebellion for the world, cutie.” Carmilla looks out at the loft. You had set up a picnic blanket. “Ah, a good old American picnic. You  _are_ a rebel.” 

“Oh, this isn’t the rebellious thing. I just thought it’d be nice. Sit?” 

Carmilla sits, cross legged on the blanket. You sit down so that your back is facing her. 

“Okay, Carm, pull up my shirt–I mean, the back! The back of my shirt.” You’re really glad she’s not facing you, because she would certainly laugh at your blush. You feel thin, manicured fingers lightly grab the bottom of your t-shirt, pulling it up slowly. 

“… _Holy shit,_ Ell, is this  _real?”_

 _“_ Yes!” You exclaim proudly, “I got a tattoo. That’s rebellious, right? Carm…?”

She doesn’t say anything; then you feel her forehead press against your back as she laughs. 

“Why are you laughing?” 

“Cinnabon, I appreciate the effort, and it  _is_ a rather large tattoo, but protip? A skull or, like, a lion across your shoulder blades would be kind of rebellious. Not a…” She bursts into giggles again, “ _sunflower.”_

 _“_ It’s just as painful as a skull when you get it!” You defend. You try to twist away to face her. 

“No, wait. Wait.” She runs her fingers lightly over the tattoo. It makes your breath hitch. 

“It’s a nice tattoo anyway,” Carmilla says laying a kiss to it, “I still can’t believe you got one just to impress me.” 

“I always wanted to get a sunflower on my back,” you answer, “I never had the nerve to go through with it though.”

“But I gave you the nerve?” 

Now you do turn to face her. “Yes. You…you know, you make me want to do things I’m usually too afraid to do. That’s why I like you. And…and this entire time I’ve been afraid that you only like me because I’m out and willing to kiss you.” 

Carmilla frowns. She reaches forward to move some hair from your face. “Ell, you are an innocent,  _adorable,_ beautiful girl. One of the smartest people I know. I may not seem like it, but you make me want to do better. Really.  _That_ is why I like you. I was kidding, yesterday. Well, mostly. But trust me, if it comes down to a choice–it’s you. Every time.” 

A warm smile spreads across your face. “I choose you every time too. I just…I like you so much.” 

“I like you too,” Carmilla pulls you closer to her, “In fact, I would say that I am  _head over heels.”_

 _“_ Really?” 

“Oh, most definitely. I am deeply,” she is sitting with her legs wrapped around your waist, “And  _totally,”_ she kisses you, pulling away to rest her forehead against yours, “in  _like_ with you.” 

You kiss her again–she tastes like smoke and alcohol. It is absolutely addicting, and you wonder how you could have ever doubted her. . 


	7. Mattie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the shortness of this one.

“Kitty-Cat! How are you, darling?” 

Your sister smiles at you, tight lipped, hands folded on the computer desk. “Fantastic, Mattie. I, uh…I got some auditions lined up. How have you been? How’s Morocco?” 

“Absolutely  _beautiful._ And New York?” 

“Great. Great. New York, New York, it’s a Hell of a town, y’know how it goes, ha, ha…” 

From the other side of the world, you’re sure your confused stare is still succeeding in making her uncomfortable through the computer screen. “Is everything all right, Millie?” 

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“You seem tense, dear.” 

“Well, auditions will do that to you.” 

“Hmm.” You answer. 

“Mattie, you’re making your bullshit face.” 

“Of course not, sis. So, where’s Ell?” 

“Ell?” Carmilla asks. 

“Yes? That little blonde you’re head over heels for? The one you defied Mother to date? Little Cinderella?” 

“…Uh, she’s out.” 

“Where? It’s eleven at night in New York City!” 

“She’s at a rehearsal. It’s tech week, you know? Big show.  _Very_ nice off broadway theatre. You know how those are…” 

You lean back in your seat. She’s wearing some ridiculous moth eaten sweater with some sort of cat on it. God, it makes your heart ache to see her dressed like that–your sister is usually so  _fashionable._

Also, you are convinced something is horribly wrong. 

“Millie, why is it that Ell has been so unavailable lately? I’ve been dying to see her and so far…nothing.” 

“Well, she kind of hates you, so.” 

“Bullshit,” you finally snap, “What the Hell is going on with you?” 

Carmilla freezes for a moment. “….Oh, look. I think I hear a knock on the door,” she makes a show of cupping her ear, “Ah, yes! Ell must be home. Silly me, I forgot to keep the door unlocked. Love you sis, but I got to go!” 

“Carmilla,  _don’t you dare–”_

She hits the power button on her computer, and the screen goes black.


	8. Laura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since you all wanted to know what Carmilla sang in chap 19.

_“_ Hey, tonight this song is dedicated to you, okay?” 

You can’t even react. You can only watch her walk away, share a conversation briefly with Miss Schraeder, and then head up to the microphone with her guitar. 

Since  _The Incident_ , and your tentative return to okay terms, you have tried to convince yourself that at least you’re over her now. It feels very much like before you admitted you had a crush on her the first time. 

Which means you know you’re not  _really_ over it. 

“…Okay. Hey everyone. So, it’s been almost five years since I played here. I hope I’m not too rusty. Or that anyone here remembers me, because that would be kind of embarrassing.” 

There’s rippled of laughter around the room. Miss Karnstein smiles. 

“My name is Carmilla, and I promised I’d dedicate this first song to a friend. She knows who she is…now, I wasn’t planning on doing this song, so bear with me.” 

She shifts a little in her seat; she’s smiling slightly as she settles her fingers on the strings. As she begins the first few chords you can’t stop the smile as you roll your eyes. Really?  _Really?_

_“What’s that playing on the radio?  
_

_Why do I start swaying to and fro?_

_I have never heard that song before,_

_But if I don’t hear anymore,_

_Still familiar to me._

_Sends a thrill right through me._

‘ _Cause those chords remind me of the night that I first fell in love with you.”_

She looks right at you for a moment as she’s singing, and you grin, tapping the table lightly to the beat. It’s such a goofy song choice you can’t possibly feel all embarrassed and blushy over it. 

You imagine what would happen if your mom was alive. Would you have come out to her? Well, yeah. Mom would have had no problem with it. You know Dad wouldn’t–not in a ‘I’m disowning you kind of way’, anyway–but mostly you’ve been avoiding it because you know he’d try  _really_ hard to be supportive and end up making things super awkward. 

But Mom would listen. And treat her the same as if she was talking about a boy. 

_Hey, Mom, guess what. There’s this girl I have a crush on, and she sang a song for me._

Of course, there’s the tiny fact that she’s your  _teacher,_ which you’re not so sure about. 

“ _As the bass is soundin’_

_And the drums are poundin’_

_The beating of my broken heart,_

_Will climb to first place on the charts.”_

She belts the last few lines, and everyone politely claps. You feel like your face is starting to hurt, you’re smiling so much, but you don’t care. The time you spent not talking to her kind of sucked. 

Like Miss Karnstein said about you–it’s pretty much impossible to stay mad at her for that long. 

Miss Karnstein raises a hand, smiling. “Thanks guys. Thanks. Hopefully my friend will appreciate that one…looks like she does.” 

She raises an eyebrow in your direction with a smirk. Okay, this time you do blush. 

Miss Schraeder looks back at you. At first you get nervous, because  _she knows,_ and that has to make her uncomfortable. 

But she doesn’t look uncomfortable. She gives you a smile and a polite wave before looking back at Miss Karnstein. 

So, are you guys trying to be friends now…? Okay. You can try that. You are a mature eighteen year old. Whose crush is sitting at an open mike, with a leather jacket and a guitar and dark eyeliner and…

“Okay, so I’m going to get somewhat serious for a moment, ladies and gents. Ell, this one is for you.” 

She takes another breath, looking somewhat more nervous, before playing again. 

“ _The dawn is breaking._

 _A light shining through._  

_You’re barely waking,_

_And I’m tangled up in you.”_

She has her eyes closed as she sings, smiling softly. The whole scene looks like something from an indie movie or something. As her hair falls off her shoulders as she looks down at the floor, you realize for the first time that Miss Karnstein really is beautiful. You already knew she was attractive, you already knew she was sexy, but you’d never seen her singing like this, and it’s beautiful.  

It also kind of hurts. Because this song  _isn’t_ for you. It’s for Miss Schraeder, whose face you can’t see, but you can see Miss Karnstein’s. And she’s looking right at her when she opens her eyes. 

“ _Even the best fall down sometimes._

_Even the stars refuse to shine._

_Out of the doubt that fills my mind,_

_I finally find you and I…”_ She makes one final, long strum of the chords. “Collide.” 

The crowd claps again. Miss Karnstein thanks the audience again, picking up the guitar and sitting down at the table. Miss Schraeder shifts so you can see the side of her face. She’s beaming, whispering something low in her girlfriend’s ear. Miss Karnstein smiles and puts an arm around her. 

You can’t take this anymore. You get up. 

“Hey, Laura!” Miss Karnstein waves at you. You stop. “What’d you think of the song?” 

“Oh. It was great, Miss Karnstein. Thank you. And, uh, thanks for…um, I mean, hi, Miss Schraeder.” 

“Laura, hi,” she answers, “You ready for tech week?” 

“Easy tech week, bad show,” you answer, “That’s what Mrs. Spielsdorf always said. So, no.” 

Miss Schraeder laughs. “Oh my God, of course I remember that. Remember, Carmilla?” 

“You know what I remember? The first year I did tech week I got my foot caught in one of the auditorium folding seats."

Miss Schraeder laughs and presses a kiss to the side of her head. 

They’re cute, you admit. 

You guess that’s the first stop of getting over it. 

“And, Laura, hey,” Miss Karnstein grabs your arm, “The song make you feel better? You know…about…tech week.” 

Mom’s birthday. 

“Yeah. A little.” 

“Good. You know, I’ll do it for you anytime. I know tech week has to be really stressful.” 

“You definitely helped.” 

“Have a good night.” 

“You too.” 

So, getting over her. Never mind. 


	9. Laura's Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place when Carmilla is eight. Her mother is still referred to as 'Mrs. Karnstein' because she is still married to Carmilla's father, to avoid confusion.

_“_ She already knows the basics of piano, but I would like my daughter Carmilla to be instilled with a love of the classics.” Mrs. Karnstein says. You nod and smile. She’s a good few inches taller than you–you’re rather short–and she’s not exactly a warm person, so this whole experience is rather intimidating. 

“Absolutely, Mrs. Karnstein. I think it’s great that you’re giving your daughter the opportunity to learn piano–” 

“Oh, she doesn’t  _want_ to, but it’s much more productive than her running around trying to act older than she is. Come. She’s in the drawing room.”

They’re so rich that they have a grand piano in the  _drawing room._ You can’t wait to go tell Laura when you pick her up from afternoon kindergarten. She’ll think it’s so funny. 

“There is my daughter, Carmilla.” Mrs. Karnstein says, opening the door. A little eight year old girl is sitting at the piano, so small that her feet dangling without touching the floor. 

“Carmilla, sit up straight,” Mrs. Karnstein barks. She startles and straightens. 

“…Hello,” she mumbles. You look at her mother. “I think I can take it from here, Mrs. Karnstein.” 

“Good. I’ll be back in about an hour. Let me know if she gives you any…difficulties.” 

“Oh, I’m sure she won’t,” you say brightly, “I think Carmilla and I are going to be friends.” 

You see Carmilla roll her eyes. Mrs. Karnstein walks out and you hear her walking up the stairs. 

“Hello, Carmilla!” You say, trying to look excited. You sit down and look at her, taking out the sheet music and placing it. “My name is Mrs. Summers. Are you ready to get started?” 

She’s pouting. Carmilla runs a hand through dark, wavy, thick hair before unclipping and reclipping the barrette keeping hair out of her eyes. “I don’t _wanna_ learn piano. Mom is making me.” 

“Aw, you don’t want to learn Mozart?” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

“Bethoven? Bach?” 

“No. I don’t wanna learn how to play  _any_ of them.” She crosses her arms and refuses to look at you. You smile. 

“Okay. We don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

Carmilla eyes you suspiciously. “You mean you’ll just go?” 

“Oh, I won’t do  _that.”_ You answer, taking the sheet music and putting it into your bag, rifling through your selection. “I was hired to teach you, and that’s what I’m going to do. But I do this because I want to teach children to love music, and you won’t love it if you’re being forced to do music you’re not interested in.” 

“So, what are we going to do…?” 

“I’m finding some music that you’ll be more interested in–here.” You take it out, placing it on the piano. “See this? It’s called ‘I Got Rhythm.’ It’s the first thing I taught my daughter and she absolutely  _loves_ it. Maybe you will.” 

“How old is your daughter?”” 

“Four.” 

“I’m not four!” 

“I’ll be happy to tell your mother that you weren’t able to learn something my four year old plays, then.” 

Carmilla glares at you for a moment. “Fine.” 

“Good! I promise, it’s fun. Now, look. You want to keep your hands like this.” You show her. “Now, this is a song by a composer named Gershwin. Have you heard of George Gershwin, Carmilla?” 

“No.” 

“Well, he wrote this song called, ‘I Got Rhythm.’ Let me play it for you, really slowly.” 

As you play it, slowly, you sing softly to yourself. It’s a force of habit. “I’ve got rhythm…I’ve got music…I’ve got my man, who can I for anything more?” You stop and look at her. “Now, your mother told me that you already know how to play, so why don’t you try it? Can you read sheet music?” 

“A little bit?” 

“Try it, then.” 

She stares at the paper, concentrating hard, her little fingers settling on the piano keys. She picks her way through the song and, like you, stars singing it softly. 

“I’ve got rhythm…I’ve got music…I’ve got my man, who can ask for anything more?” She looks at you. “That was right, wasn’t it?” 

You look at her. 

“Mrs. Summers?” 

“…Carmilla, have you ever had voice training?” 

“I’ve done some for opera. I hated it” 

“You have a very nice tone.” 

She blinks, surprised, before running a hand through her hair again. “Um, thanks?” 

You nod to yourself. “…Would you mind doing me a favor?” 

“Depends.” 

“I just want you to do a scale for me.” 

Carmilla places her hands in her lap, pushing on her thighs. “I guess I can?” 

“Good. Now,  _doe, re, mi, fa, so, la, ti, doe…_ just repeat that when I play the keys again, okay, Carmilla?” 

She tilts her head and copies you. Perfect pitch. You can’t believe how good she is for an eight year old girl. 

“Do you like singing?” You ask casually. 

“Not the way my mom makes me.She tries to make me sing in Italian. It’s so _stupid,_ I don’t even know what I’m saying.” She wrinkles her nose. You smile. 

“Hey, what if I made you a deal?” You ask. Carmilla doesn’t say ‘no’, which you take to be a yes. “You know I’m a vocal teacher too, right? I can teach you to sing, if you want. But with songs you would like. They’ll even be in english. But only if you learn some Mozart pieces.” 

Carmilla doesn’t look convinced. 

“Your mother wants you to learn them, I’ll need to teach you some if you want the vocal lessons.” 

Carmilla’s mouth quirks to the side. She looks so serious that you struggle not to laugh at it. Suddenly, she thrusts a hand at you. 

“Deal.” She answers, “But you better pick good songs.” 

* * *

 

You lie and tell Mrs. Karnstein that it’s normal for a child to learn this slowly; in reality you’re only actually using the last ten minutes of class for piano. The rest has been voice training. You’re surprised when Carmilla skips over all of the usual selections you bring for young girls–mostly Disney songs for beginners–and jumps straight into the musical theatre pieces. 

“Carmilla, you are  _eight,_ I don’t think your voice is ready for  _Light in the Piazza.”_

 _“_ I’m ready, Mrs. Summers, please? My mom is going to be back in, like, ten minutes. I want to try.” 

“Oh, she  _is,_ isn’t she? What does she do every Wednesday for an hour anyway…?” 

“Marriage counseling,” Carmilla answers. 

She doesn’t sit at the piano with you anymore; there’s a couch next to it that she sits on for the lessons, and you turn to look at her. “Carmilla, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to voice that out loud–” 

Carmilla shrugs. “I dunno, it’s not a big deal. Lots of parents do that.” 

You realize that you’ve never actually seen her father. 

“Well…I suppose it’s good that your mom and dad are working on being a family again.” 

“Mom says all they do is argue ‘cause my dad’s a ‘lazy irresponsible bum’, but I guess it’s better than when they were yelling in the house all the time.” 

Your heart aches. You imagine what kind of turmoil it would take for Laura to speak so casually about a broken home, vicious fighting, you calling Charles a bum. She’d break before she’d be numb to it. 

You can’t help it–you reach forward and run a hand through her hair. “You are such a brave little girl, Carmilla. I’m sure your mom and dad are really,  _really_ proud of how you’re handling things. And I’m proud of you, too.” 

She doesn’t answer; a blush crosses her face and she looks down and mumbles something incoherent. You withdraw your hand and assume it’s a thanks. 

“Let’s placate your mom and learn a few lines of Ode to Joy, okay?” 

Mrs. Karnstein walks in ten minutes later. Carmilla obediently walks up to her, squinting her eyes shut tight as Mrs. Karnstein absently pats her on the head like a dog. 

“Maman, I learned more of Ode to Joy today!” 

“That’s wonderful, dear. Mrs. Summers, here’s your payment for this week and next. I stopped at the bank.” 

You get up and almost fall back down as you are overcome with a rush of dizziness. You have to steady yourself on the piano. 

“ _Wow,_ that was unpleasant. I’m fine. Sorry.” You regain your composure and accept the money. Mrs. Karnstein walks in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Carmilla, I’ll see you next week, I promise I’ll bring some new–” You’re stopped by a bone crushing hug. 

“Thank you for what you said,” you hear, muffled into your sweater. You smile and return the hug. 

“You deserve to hear it, honey. But my daughter is going to be upset if I’m late picking her up.” 

She lets you go. You pick Laura up, make her dinner. You do some voice lessons for her–she’s only four, they’re really just Disney sing alongs–before tucking her into bed and drawing a bath for yourself. 

Your husband is the one who notices the bruises when he walks in on you changing into another shirt, large, purple ones from the hug you’d been given that afternoon. 

That wasn’t normal. 

* * *

 

You should really be home, should really be preparing for what’s next, but you can’t. This is something you need to do, anyway, and it takes your mind off the fact that you have a four year old playing in kindergarten right now. One who you’ll have to sit down with, later, and explain to her something a toddler couldn’t understand and shouldn’t _have_  to understand. 

You knock on the door. Mrs. Karnstein answers. 

“…Good afternoon, Mrs. Summers–” 

“Mrs. Karnstein, I am sorry that this is so sudden, but I have to terminate our contract.” 

You speak with her in hushed tones for the next few minutes. Mrs. Karnstein, to her credit, is understanding; and who wouldn’t be? She even lets you keep the advance she had given you. 

“You’ll need it more than I do. What would you like me to tell Carmilla?” 

You take a breath. “I’d like to see her. And I think we need to talk about her.” As you walk in, you see Carmilla, kicking her feet on the armchair. Mrs. Karnstein gives her a look. She stops. 

“Mrs. Summers, hi.” 

“Mrs. Karnstein, I need to tell you something.” You sit next to Carmilla. “Mrs. Karnstein, I have been giving your daughter vocal lessons for the past few months. Specifically for musical theatre. She said you wouldn’t approve, but I continued teaching her. Your daughter has a  _gift,_ Mrs. Karnstein, one that I have never seen in someone so young–and that was even before she started getting training. I can’t leave without at least trying to convince you that she _needs_ to continue to hone this talent.” 

Carmilla looks terrified, and you have an arm around her shoulders. Mrs. Karnstein narrows her eyes. 

“…If not for your  _predicament,_ I would demand a full refund. I would certainly still terminate your employment. Unfortunately, you have beaten me to that. But do not presume to know what is best for someone’s child in the future, Mrs. Summers, just because you have a degree. I trust you will see yourself out.” 

Her high heels make a dull noise as she walks up the carpeted stairs. Carmilla squirms out of your grasp. 

“What do you mean,  _quitting?_ And  _predicament?”_

You look down at your nails and the chips in the white polish. “I…Carmilla, I’m sick. I need to stay home and focus on getting better.” 

Carmilla furrows her brow, appraising you with dark eyes. “That’s adult talk,” she announces. 

“What?” 

“Adult talk. Like when Maman said she and Dad were ‘taking a little break’. You’re  _really_ sick, aren’t you?” 

“I–I really shouldn’t–” Your voice catches, and all at once, you’re crying. And it’s strange and rather embarrassing, to have an eight year old, rubbing your back and comforting  _you_ , but it happens. 

“I don’t know what to tell my daughter. She’s  _four._ She’s four and she might–might grow up–God, this is so inappropriate to be talking about with one of my students.” 

“Hey, you just quit.” Carmilla answers with a shrug. You force a smile. 

“I guess so.” 

“Look, I’m–my family isn’t exactly–y’know, warm and cuddly. You know Mom. Dad is pretty much the same way.” 

You run a hand down your face, trying to regain some of your composure. 

“And you’re not  _dead,_ gosh, calm down. Look, you’re sick, and you need to get better. But you  _will.”_

 _“_ Thank you.” 

“And you’re brave,” Carmilla says firmly, “And I’m sure your daughter is going to be really proud of you for fighting so hard. Right?” 

You don’t trust yourself to speak just yet, so you nod. 

“I’m going to miss taking lessons from you, though. And  _I_ promise, I will sneak out of the house if I have to, but I am going to keep learning how to sing. And when I get my first Broadway show or something, I’ll send you a Playbill.” 

You smile. “Carmilla, everything I said before was true. You’re gifted, and I know you’ll go far.” You get up. “I’m going to miss you too, honey. You really are a sweet girl.” 

You open the front door and look back at her. “And Carmilla?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Make sure you sign that Playbill.” 

You’re happy that the last image you have of her is her giving you two thumbs up and grinning. 

You wipe a hand on your sleeve, take a deep breathe, shake your head, and walk toward your car. 

It’s time to pick up Laura from kindergarten. 


	10. Laura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I want to show more of what Carm is like as a teacher. Takes place pre-chapter 10

The worst days are when Miss Karnstein wears glasses.

You don’t know  _why_ it’s especially distracting for you. But Miss Karnstein sometimes wears glasses, these large, square black frames. It should have been dorky, but it’s not.  _Definitely_ not.

_Focus, Laura. FOCUS. You already failed your last test, and this is a new unit._

_“_ Today we’re starting  _Romeo and Juliet,”_ Miss Karnstein says, “One of my personal favorites…” 

When she’s teaching she sits on top of the teacher’s desk–you never had a teacher do that before. You never had teacher that young before, either. Or with such a perfectly chiselled jaw line…

“Hollis?  _Hollis?”_

 _“_ Wait, I’m sorry, what?” 

People around you laugh, and your cheeks burn.

“Wow, really? You were looking right at me. At least have the decency to look out the window so I know you’re not paying attention.”

The class laughs even louder. “…Sorry,” you mumble, “I’ll answer the question though, what is it?”

“I said, since you’re a  _thespian_ yourself, what can you tel me about  _Romeo and Juliet?”_

 _“_ Um…well, it’s about a guy and a girl…” 

“Go on.” 

“And they want to be together, but their families hate each other, right? But they try to be together anyway. And that fixes their feuding families or something.”

“Would you say that  _Romeo and Juliet_ is about ‘true love conquering all’?” 

“Yes…? No. No, I don’t.” You amend it when you see her face. 

“See,  _there_ you go.” She hops off the desk. “So, here’s how I want to start. Let’s name every single  _Romeo and Juliet_ inspired work we can. I’ll write them down on the marker board. Anything with a  _Romeo and Juliet_ plot.” 

“Lion King 2?” Perry says, raising her hand. 

“West Side Story,” you call out. 

“Gnomeo and Juliet!” A boy in the back shouts. 

“That one with Leonardo DiCaprio?” Danny suggests. 

You all end up covering the entire marker board with names. “Good. Now, here is what I want you to do with these,” she takes an eraser and, in one swipe, gets rid of all of them. “That is the first step of learning this play, ladies and gents. Forget everything you’ve learned from the media–Romeo and Juliet is not about love. At least not in the way they’re portraying it.”

She can be a good teacher when she’s teaching lit she’s actually interested in, and it shows. She paces the front of the room, gesturing with her hands. Kind of cute.

“Juliet was thirteen years old–barely a teenager,” she continues, “Romeo decided he was madly in love with her within five minutes of meeting her, and the feeling was mutual. The whole thing is ridiculous and stupid–and that’s the _point._ Anyone who tells you that Romeo and Juliet is about how the families should have just let their kids be together is, frankly, illiterate.” 

She stops, crossing her arms in front of her chest, lifting her chin slightly. “But lecturing you all on the real meaning is boring. Anyone have any thoughts? Hm? Come on, you’re my honors class, if you’re not getting it I should just go home right now.”

No one answers. Her dark eyes scan the room, running a hand through her hair before she settles on you again.

Why does she always like messing with you? She can’t  _know,_ can she? She can’t, right? You’ve been hiding it, at the very least you don’t walk around with a rainbow cape or anything—

“Alright, Laura, redemption time.” 

You take a sharp intake of breath. “Um…well…I guess…his message was ‘if it causes a war and might kill people, you might want to choose someone less high maintenance?’”

The class laughs at that.

“Plus–I dunno, isn’t Rosaline Capulet’s niece, or something? Romeo probably gets off on the danger or something.” 

Miss Karnstein raises an eyebrow. “Interesting. Not the most articulate of responses, but you’re going in the right direction. The story isn’t about how they loved each other–it was about how they were  _so stupidly in love_ they couldn’t see that it wasn’t worth it. It’s really a story above the dangers of putting romantic love over obligation and duty. So, some stuff you should write down…”

Danny and Perry are taking furious notes on either side of you, but you’re too busy resting your chin on your hand, watching her write down notes. 

The bell rings.

“Hey, Laura,” you look at her. 

“Thank you for actually contributing to the discussion today.” 

“Well–I mean, that–generally happens when you’re teacher always calls on you.” 

She smirks. “What can I say? I like your answers. They’re cute.”

_Is she…? Are we…? No. Do not even go there._

_“_ Well…take care!” You dart out of the classroom, hearing Miss Karnstein laughing softly. 

 _Take care._ Stupid teenage hormones.


	11. Laura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You ask and I delivered! Chap 21 from Laura's POV.

_“_ You. Here.” 

You stare at her finger, pointing at the ground in front of her. “Wh-what?”

“On the stage.” 

She hops onto the stage. You are sufficiently shocked–too shocked to be nervous. You didn’t realize she took this so seriously.

You breathe a sigh of relief when you manage to get yourself onto the stage without too much of a struggle. You’re so short that it’s a problem sometimes, and the last thing you want her to see is you struggling to heft yourself up like a five year old or something.

“Okay, so where did you learn how to polka? And  _please_ don’t say the ‘Scarsdale Jewish Community Center’.”

Your heart swells when Miss Karnstein smiles at the reference. You figured she’d appreciate it. “Would you believe ‘a diplomat’s daughter, in her dorm room at St. Porter’s?’” 

You give her a look, and she amends, “At Silas Summer Youth Theatre, as the lead in a production of  _The King and I._ And I can prove it.”

She holds a hand out to you. You feel like you’re on a roll with the theatre references tonight when you make a sweeping bow. “Shall we dance?”

“Come on, Laura. Face to face,” before you can even register what’s happen you’re pulled close to her. “Chest to chest…and there you go.” 

Your hand automatically goes to settle at her waist, and the moment your hand feels the rough denim of her jeans, the situation finally hits you. Alone. With Miss Karnstein. About to…polka.

Okay, so that part didn’t exactly sound romantic, but it’s one of those things that are a  _lot_ better than it sounds. You gulp.

“Um…what now?” 

“Follow my lead.” 

Vaguely, you hear her counting off as you try and keep up with the dance steps. Or at least avoid her feet. You bite your lip and focus.

“Christ, Cupcake, you’re bad at this.” 

“Excuse me, I’ve never done polka before!” You counter. You remember the comment she made about you to Ell–’trouble with the moving of limbs’–and you’re determined to prove her at least somewhat wrong. “One, two, three, _and_ one, two, three  _and…_ hey, I think I’m getting the hang of it!” 

For one brief moment you almost imagine you’re in Siam, dancing with the King.

Actually, Miss Karnsteinwould be Anna, wouldn’t she be?

Wow, Miss Karnstein doing a British accent would be really–

“Oof!” Of course, you get distracted and trip. You both hit the ground laughing.

“So much for  _that!”_

 _“_ You’re the one who tripped!’ Nope. You are not going to admit it. 

“Please,” Miss Karnstein huffs. She sits up. You both are sitting Indian style. Miss Karnstein sighs.

“What’s up?” You ask. Miss Karnstein lifts her head back and laughs.

“…Not much. Hell week. You?” 

“Same.” You pause, feel a little daring, and add, “But it hasn’t been all bad. Got to dance with my crush. It was polka, but still…”

She gives you a light punch on the shoulder, which you’re sure you’ll remember for weeks. You grin and stick your tongue out at her.

“Wow, you’re really immature. Remind me why I like you?” 

You’re surprised by how quickly the nerves are gone. It’s like, you have a crush on her, but you don’t. At least not in that really burning, super consuming way. Now it’s…quieter. But still there. Definitely there.

“Hmm…because I am adorable,  _and_ nice,  _and_ I’m the most talented person you know,  _and_ I am all around awesome.”

She doesn’t say anything. There’s a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. It’s making you self conscious. “…What? I was joking.” 

“Well, you were joking, but none of it was a lie.” Miss Karnstein says. 

Miss Karnstein–God, you  _hate_ calling her that. You wish you could call her Carmilla. You imagine it would roll off your tongue as smoothly as an ocean wave. You can’t even think of it in your head, because you’re afraid you’ll do it out loud by accident. But her name really is nice.

And, as you think about it, a feeling bubbles up in your chest. This isn’t normal for students and teachers to do. This has to mean  _something._ And you’re going to look her right in the eyes, right now, and call her Carmilla. It’s right at the tip of your lips:  _Look,_ Carmilla, _if we had met somewhere else…what do you think we’d be doing right now?_

But then the phone rings. “Hold on, Cupcake, I got a text.”

You look away, staring at a spot in the wall. Okay, this question can wait. You smile, but you see Carmilla’s face in your peripheral vision. She looks kind of guilty all of a sudden.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.

She tells you that you should go home. She’s right. Dad was probably about to walk in to look for you.

 _“_ See you tomorrow C–Miss Karnstein.” 

She waves at you while she types a number into her phone. You get out of there before you can hear them talk. When you hit the chilly spring night air, you sigh.

“Goodnight, Carmilla,” you whisper, and you head toward Dad’s car.


	12. Betty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've had Betty and Carmell during their school years requested. I've had this headcanon literally since I wrote Ell into the fic. 
> 
> Takes place Carm's sophomore year.

Carmilla is standing with you in the bathroom at the intermission for Rent. 

“Mrs. Spielsdorf, I don’t know if I can do this.” 

She’s sweating. You can see sweat glistening on her temples, which is impressive, because you’ve pretty much become a second mother to this kid, and you weren’t even sure she was  _capable_ of sweating until now. All the more reason why she  _has_ to do this. 

“Carmilla, we talked about this,” you answer gently, “Everyone already kind of knows. It’s not exactly subtle with all the flannel and leather. _”_

 _“_ No–Mrs. Spielsdorf, this is a bad idea. A  _really_ bad idea. I should just rip it up and forget about it.” 

You didn’t want to have to play this card, but you do. “Carmilla, Ell deserves this. You  _know_ that. She has been sneaking around with you for weeks and–and frankly I am tired of being your lookout. I am twenty-nine, it’s not exactly appropriate, age wise or career wise.” 

“You think I  _want_ to do that? I told you, I told Ell–I would have been out yesterday. But it’s my  _mother,_ Mrs. Spielsdorf. You know how crazy she is. She’s convinced I could like boys if I closed my eyes  _reaaaally_ tight, you know?” 

She’s leaning over the sink, looking at herself in the mirror. You walk behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Carmilla, I promise you, whatever happens, I will back you up. I don’t know what I can do–but I will do it. I just hate seeing you so frustrated. It’s not healthy. I’m not going to lie and say your mom might not be as bad as you think because, frankly, that is a  _lie._ But when the smoke clears, you’ll be happier, and you and Ell will be better off for it–”

The door opens and Carmilla’s head snaps up. “Cinnabon!” She squeaks. You back up. Ell tilts her head at you both, a bemused smile on her face. 

“Anyone else in here?” She asks. You shake your head no. Ell’s smile widens and she walks behind Carmilla, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend’s waist. 

“You were absolutely  _fantastic,_ Kitten,” Ell whispers. Carmilla rubs her cheek against Ell’s affectionately. “…Mrs. Spielsdorf, why are you in here?” 

“Oh, uh–” 

“Pep talk,” Carmilla answers, spinning around to face Ell, “Mrs. Spielsdorf was giving me a pep talk for act two.” 

“Since when did  _you_ need a pep talk?” 

“Well, when I have to pretend to break up with my girlfriend…” 

“Oh,  _please._ That’s your favorite scene.” 

Carmilla kisses her softly. “Okay, yeah, it is.” 

“I  _completely_ forget what I was here for,” Ell admits, “So I’m just going to go back into the dressing room and make sure our props are all there. I’ll see you in, like, five minutes for act two.” 

“See you, babe.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Spielsdorf, for the, um…pep talk you gave Carm.” 

Ell leaves. Carmilla watches her retreating back, holding open the bathroom door, before looking back at you. “I am  _tired_ of this.” 

“Huh?” 

“I am tired of having to kiss my girlfriend in the bathroom or on the couch in the loft. It feels gross. And kind of cheap. Pardon my language, but I am fucking tired of it.” 

“I’ll write you up for the swearing later. So does that mean…?” 

“Make sure everything is set up.” She balled her fists, nodding to herself, before exiting the bathroom. You crack your knuckles. Time for act two.

* * *

 

The show ends and you’re sitting at the front, leading the standing ovation as everyone walks out onstage. 

Carmilla has had this planned with you since before you blocked bows–they always kind of came at the last minute–and went back and forth every week on going through with it. Ell found it rather odd that they were the  _very last two_ to take bows, but whatever–all you told her was ‘I’m the director’ and it worked. 

Ell finally walks out to applause. Carmilla doesn’t join her. There’s a smile still frozen on Ell’s face as her eyes flit to the other side of the stage where Maureen was supposed to be appearing next to her. 

 _Oh God, she’s not changing her mind_ again,  _is she?_ Ell looks down at you and you make a little motion for her to go on without her. Ell walks forward, taking a bow. She’s about to turn to walk to one side of the stage when finally,  _finally,_ Carmilla walks out. 

It’s a simple sign. Just poster board with big block letters. It’s what’s  _on_ the letters that’s impressive. 

**I’M GAY. PROM?**

Ell’s reaction is better than anything you could have imagined. Carmilla is standing in front of her, with  _the_ most unromantic look on her face–somewhere between terror and grim determination. Her co-star’s hands fly to her mouth, eyes widening. 

“M… _me?”_

Carmilla nods. The audience is shocked into silence. You hear a few people asking each other if this was part of the show. 

Oh  _boy,_ was this not part of the show. 

Ell smiles, hugging Carmilla close, the poster board falling at their feet. Carmilla finally relaxes, rubbing Ell’s cheek, with the most genuine, non-smirky smile you’ve ever seen on her. 

So, your job description may not have included ‘playing love connection’ but hey, what can you say? Carmilla deserved to be happy. 

For all of five minutes, at least. You sneak a look behind you. Principal Morgan looks  _pissed._

* * *

 

You promised you’d have Carmilla’s back, and Elizabeth Spielsdorf did not renege on a promise. Even if over six feet of charging Principal is walking down the hall that led to the band room slash dressing room and you’re the only thing standing in her way. 

“Where is my daughter?” 

“Dressing.” 

“Did you know she would do that?” She demanded. 

“What?  _Oh,_ the prom thing. Wasn’t it cute? I had no idea they were dating, but looking back on it–well, it’s  _so hard_ to fake that kind of stage chemistry.” You smile innocently at her. She is not amused. 

“You are a bald faced liar. You  _knew,_ didn’t you?” 

“Nope.” 

“I can have you fired!” 

“According to my tenure, you need a much better reason than that. Unless you can prove I was helping Carmilla cook meth, I think my job is safe.” 

“I– _you–_ just make sure my daughter gets out of there!” She turns sharply and walks away. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Quietly, you open the door to the band room. 

“…Hey, guys.” 

Ell is sitting with Carmilla on the floor; Carmilla’s head is in her lap, and Ell is stroking her hairline softly. “I love you so much. I still cannot  _believe_ you did that, Kitten, it was so stupid.” She kisses her. “And romantic.” Another kiss. “And such a bad idea.” Kiss. “I want to marry you.” Kiss. “Even though you are an idiot sometimes.” 

Carmilla smiles. “Right back at you, Cinnabon. But Mother is probably waiting. She looks at you and scrambles to her feet. “How bad?” 

“I’ll write to the prison cell she’ll be keeping you in from now on.” 

Carmilla winces. Ell bites her lip. “Carm, if we don’t go to prom, it’s fine. It’s the thought that–” 

“What? Oh no. You are both going to prom.” 

“Seriously, Mrs. Spielsdorf, you’ve done enough for me and Ell--” 

“I have  _not._ Look, if there is one thing I hate, it is bullies. Especially when I have answer to them. And  _especially_ when it’s to their own kid. I’ve already made my job here a living Hell. I’m not letting it be for nothing. I do not know how we’re going to do it, but Ell, Carmilla,” you reach out a hand, “We are getting you both to prom. Deal?” 

Ell walks forward, smiling, placing a hand over yours. “Deal.” 

Carmilla rolls her eyes, but does it as well. 

“What team?” Ell asks jokingly. 

“Babe, don’t–”

 _“Wildcats!”_  You and Ell shout. 

“Oh my  _God,_ both of you stop right now.” 

“I have to go–tonight will be an interesting conversation with my parents. Call me when you can?” 

“I’ll do my best.” 

She kisses Carmilla again and walks out. Carmilla looks at you, and for a moment it seems like she’ll walk past you–then she turns around and gives you a bone crushing hug. 

“Mrs. Spielsdorf–” 

“Don’t, I know, you’re welcome.” 


	13. Laura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of requests for Laura and Ell’s POVs in the last chapter, so here you go! Laura’s first.

“…You know.” Your heart stops. Miss Karnstein looks like she caught herself in a slip up, makes one last quick comment, and looks down at her book. 

You’re trying not to get your hopes up, you’re really not. But she’s been acting _so weird_ around you for the past few days. 

Maybe it’s the crush thing? 

But that didn’t bother her a few months ago. 

Maybe it’s because Miss Schraeder is around now? 

But that  _also_ didn’t bother her when they got back together. And if Miss Schraeder was making her uncomfortable about it, wouldn’t this have started awhile ago? 

So, whatever the problem is, it’s either something  _you_ did, or something she did. Which was it? 

As you walk out of the classroom, Perry and Danny are on you immediately. 

“Laura, did you notice Miss Karnstein was acting a little…strange?” Perry asks. 

“Uh, no. Not at all. Ever. Nope.” 

Danny is looking at you like she knows everything.  _Crap._

 _“_ Laura, you sure? That was kind of weird.” 

“I dunno, she wasn’t weird when she drove me home last night–” Which is both a lie, and totally counterproductive to getting them to leave you alone. 

“Wait, she drove you  _home?”_ Perry asks, “Why?” 

“Dad had a flat tire.” 

“Well, that explains it.” Danny answers. 

“What? Explains what?” You ask, totally failing at trying to sound disiniterested. 

“You and her, in a car alone, together? I bet that must have made her feel super weird.” 

“What, because she’s gay? That’s not very nice, Danny.” Perry says. 

The three of you stop at Danny’s locker as she opens it. “It’s not just because she’s gay. But it’s not like she hides the fact you’re her favorite.” 

“Only because I’m the only one that wants to be an actress.” 

“ _Still,_ it can’t  _look_ good, you know? To anyone else.” 

“What, like Miss Schraeder?” You ask. Danny shrugs as she closes the locker. 

“Maybe. We’ll meet you at the lunch table, Perr.” 

You walk with Danny. “Oh my God, you’re right, she must have told Miss Schraeder and now things are totally weird between them, it’s all my fault–” 

“It’s  _not_ your fault. What were you going to do, walk home? And it  _was_ just a ride home.” 

“Yeah. Ha. Just a ride. Totally not also a ride to the cemetery.” 

Danny stopped in the middle of the hallways. “Wait, so how long were you both in the car? Did you call your dad?”

“About half an hour together, total? She let me go, then we drove home. I didn’t tell dad she drove me home, I said I got a ride from LaF. But that isn’t weird, right–” 

“No. No. Driving your student to the cemetery  _is_ a little weird. Not wanting your dad to know is a little strange.” 

“You know my dad, he would have overreacted and thought something was going on–” 

“ _Is_ something going on?” 

You stop and stare at her for a moment before stuttering out, “A-absolutely not, what the heck do you mean? I’m  _straight,_ Danny.” 

Danny raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t say you weren’t…?” 

“Then why are we even still talking about this? Goodbye!” 

“Laura, what about, you know,  _lunch?”_

Right. You eat lunch with Natalie and Sarah Jane instead. 

* * *

 

One moment you were standing backstage, the next you were in the dressing room with Miss Schraeder kneeling next to you. 

“…Laura, honey, are you okay?” 

“ _Ugh…_ what happened…?” 

“You passed out, sweetie.” 

“Oh my God, did I miss my cue?” You sit up straight. 

“No, the show isn’t starting for a few minutes.”

“Where’s Miss Karnstein?” 

Wrong question . Ell’s brow furrows slightly. 

“…And, you know, Mrs. Spielsdorg and Miss Belmonde…” 

“Carmilla left to get water. Betty and Mattie are backstage. Danny got you this fan.” 

“Oh my God. I passed out from heatstroke. I’m never going to do a good performance like  _this.”_

 _“_ Never say never. Idina Menzel had an asthma attack right before she did Defying Gravity at the Tony Awards, did you know that?” 

“Wait, really? Wow. Um…can I get a minute alone?” 

“Sure. Good luck, Laura, you’ll be fantastic.” 

No, you won’t. You feel like if you walk too much you’ll collapse. You definitely don’t feel up for dancing or acting sexy or singing or really anything–

“Hey, Laura.” 

You open your eyes. “Miss Karnstein, hey. JP saw–” 

“Yeah, I got filled in…” 

You still don’t feel right. Your mind hazes in and out, and you only catch snippets of what she’s saying. You’re not in your right mind. She lifts a water bottle to your lips, her hand cupping your chin gently, and it feels so nice but she has a  _girlfriend,_ so you take the water bottle from her and assure her you’ll live. 

But then she’s saying something about going on, and you still can barey understand anything that’s going on, you’re too dizzy.  You’d rather tell the representative you’re too sick than to embarrass yourself. You tell her as much. That you just can’t. 

“Can’t?  _Can’t?_ Laura, get up.” 

And you wobble slightly as you get to your feet and look at her. “Laura Hollis, since when was ‘can’t’ in your vocabulary? Did you say ‘I can’t’ when you decided you wanted to organize a Christmas party for me? Did you say ‘I can’t’ when you organized a clothing drive for the show? Did you let me say ‘I can’t’ when Betty quit and I needed to step up and direct the show? You are nervous, and it’s messing with your head. Snap out of it and do what you do best.”

That was different. You weren’t trying to talk her into directing. And the party, and the clothing drive? Those weren’t those you  _wanted_ to do, those were things you  _had_ to do. They were for Miss Karnstein. She needed it, you had to do something. It’s a lot harder to do something for yourself. 

“But–” 

And she keeps talking, but the part that really catches you is this: “…Laura, how could I ever be disappointed in one of the best, most amazing people I know?”

She thinks you’re amazing. She thinks you’re the best. In your overheated state you make the decision: maybe you can do one more thing for Miss Karnstein. Maybe if you do this show for her, you can get through. It feels so much less undoable that way, and you take a breath. 

“…Is this the part where you start singing ‘Lullaby of Broadway?’ Because I don’t think we have time, so I’ll just skip to the part where I agree to do it.” 

You’re overwhelmed by everything, and you kind of need to hug somebody right now, and well…she’s here, so you do. 

“Miss Karnstein…like you said this morning…you know.”

“Yeah. I know.” 

She gives you her trademark snarky responses to you giving her some more praise, and you smile. “You are unbelievable.” 

Your heart feels like it stops when you feel soft lips press against the top of your head. You’ve dreamed about this for  _months._ Wrapped in her arms, her hand lightly rubbing a circle in your back, pressing a loving kiss to your hair and wishing you good luck. It’s perfect and–

“Ell!” And Miss Karnstein jumps away, and you’re staring at Miss Schraeder, who looks as rigid as a stature. 

“Laura, you have a minute to get onstage.”

“Miss Schraeder, thank you!” You squeak, running out. Because you’ve gone from feeling wonderful to feeling horrible again. She was so nice to you and tried to give you a pep talk before and here you are cuddling with her girlfriend. 

You almost trip on your way backstage, running across the back. Betty is tapping her foot nervously. 

“Laura,  _get in there!”_

She shoves you onstage just as Perry is supposed to walk out with you. You squeak out the first line, and notice Miss Karnstein sitting in the audience looking away from Ell pointedly. 

She deserves to at least get a good show. You take a breath, steel up, and do what you do best. The show must go on. 


	14. Ell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 25, Ell's POV

You read the text once, twice, three times. Carmilla drove Laura home. Alone after rehearsal. Why?  

But, you shake your head. No. You’re not going to be paranoid. Laura needed a ride; Carmilla gave her one. And then she stopped at the cemetery so that Laura could talk to her mother. That was _sweet._ That shouldn’t be making you nervous.

Just because Carmilla had been acting distant all week...and just because she always seemed nervous around Laura...and...

 _No._ You are not making a big deal out of this. _This_ is why Carmilla is nervous around her. Because you need to make mountains out of molehills. You finally shoot back a text, tell her you’re proud of her, and try and focus on finding a good dress to wear for opening night. 

When you finally drive over to the school, you see your dear future mother in-law walking outside. You hate that Carmilla looks so much like her. Principal Morgan didn’t deserve to look like her daughter. You hunker down, hoping she doesn’t notice you, and by some miracle she walks right by your car. 

Good. The worst part of the night is over, at least. 

You walk in and see Carmilla talking to Betty. You smile. You didn’t realize how much you miss Betty until you see her right in front of you. Carmilla spots you. Before you can so much as wave she has her pale hands cupping your face, giving you a long, languid kiss. You feel like your insides are turning to warm goo. 

“Wow...hey,” you breathe. 

“Hey, babe, you ready for the show?”

“I’m a little distracted _now,_ but, sure.” You answer. You press your forehead to hers.

“Wow, guys, get a room.” 

“Shut up, Betty, Carmilla and I are trying to get a few moments of peace before we have to run around backstage.”

Betty and Carmilla talk back and forth for a few moments before, mercifully, Betty spots Kirsch and leaves you both alone. 

“Carmilla, come here,” you say, pulling her into a hallway and pressing your forehead to hers again. Carmilla laughs. 

“Wow, Ell, what’s the occasion?”

She hasn’t paid this much attention to you in almost two weeks, that’s the occasion. But, obviously, you can’t say _that.  
_

“Does there need to be? Besides, I don’t know, I feel bad about this morning.” 

“Don’t be. Visiting the cemetery wasn’t that bad. Even if Laura kept singing along to the radio.” She laughs. It sounds forced and, once again, you feel insecurity worming in your gut. 

Communication, Ell. It’s what made your relationship fail the first time. So, you suck it up and decide now is as good a time as any to clear the air. 

“Um...Carmilla?”

“Mm-hmm?” 

“You know...” You swallow, “I trust you, right?”

Carmilla doesn’t say anything at first; she puts her hands on your hips. For a moment you can almost feel like you’re in high school again; sneaking around the school, sneaking kisses and touches in empty hallways in between classes.

“Why would you not?” 

It’s not angry, just probing. You kind of wish she’d take greater offense to it. 

“I mean, whenever one of us mentions Laura, or you’re talking to Laura with me, you always seem kind of off.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carmilla answers quickly. A little too quickly. 

You look down at the floor. Everything in your body is screaming that something is wrong, something is going on, this isn’t sitting right...but you can’t. You are being paranoid. There is nothing. There _can’t_ be anything. Not after everything you’ve both been through. 

“I love you,” you say softly, steeling your resolve. Because you’re not messing this up again, you _can’t_ , because if it doesn’t work out with Carmilla, after six years and not giving up even when you were basically reenacting _Romeo and Juliet,_ what _will?_ You look at her. 

“I love you, and I want you to know that you don’t need to be nervous about being friends with her. You’re allowed to like other girls, especially when it’s just you mentoring a girl that wants to have the same career as you.” You almost make yourself believe it, and Carmilla lightly brushes the corner of your mouth with her thumb. 

“Cinnabon, I promise, I will never want anyone else--”

LaFontaine interrupts the two of you before she can finish. 

* * *

 

Carmilla has left to go get water, and you need to take care of Laura, helping Danny set up her fan for the poor girl can get air. 

Despite your suspicions, you really can’t hate her. She was genuinely sorry for the ‘paint incident’ and she’s sweet. And really, really talented. You speak to her gently for a few moments until you hear banging at the back door. Carmilla is carrying a case of water, and you, Mattie, and Betty explain the situation before she hurries off. 

You watch the first scene and the first two Rydell fight songs.

“Ell, you better get Laura _now.”_ Betty says. 

“On it, Betty!” 

You run to the dressing room, opening the door. 

Your breath catches in your throat. They jumped away from each other as soon as they spotted you, but you saw it. Her lips were pressed to Laura’s head. 

Everything turns into a vacuum and all you see is Carmilla, looking at you guiltily. “Laura, you have a minute to get onstage.” 

You keep staring at Carmilla as you say it. Laura scampers away. 

“Cinnabon, how is--” 

“Fine. It’s fine.”

“Good. Good. We can go watch in the audience, then?” 

There’s a roaring in your ears, like a conch shell is pressed to the side of your head. There is nothing to keep you in denial anymore. This was real. You weren’t paranoid. And when Betty walks in to tell you both Laura made it, it sounds like she’s speaking to you from behind a plane of glass. 

“Good.” Carmilla repeats, “We can go sit in the audience, then.” 

“...Ell.” she reaches out for your hand. 

_No._ If she tried to talk to you about it, _acknowledged_ what just happened, maybe you would do it. But she’s not. She’s trying to smooth it over with her punk smile and pretend nothing is wrong. You have to face it; maybe she hasn’t changed. 

“You know where we’re sitting,” you answer stiffly, walking away briskly, willing yourself not to cry.


	15. Laura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place right after the set breakdown in chapter 28

If she had told you ‘I’m not interested in you that way’ you would have dropped it. You really would have. But ‘I would date you if not for these two reasons’? You can’t just _accept_ that. Especially if they’re fixable. 

The student thing takes care of itself. You graduate in a month and a half. Which meant…

You gulp as you stare up at the ceiling of your bedroom. _Come out._ You don’t know why it scares you so much. Danny came out and, other than a few people calling it a ‘phase’, she didn’t get any hostility. LaFontaine didn’t either. People didn’t have a problem using the right pronouns when they remembered them. 

It wasn’t exactly _acceptance–_ no one welcomed them with open arms or anything–but it was _apathy,_ which you don’t really mind. Because it shouldn’t be a big deal, right?

Of course, there is the problem of your dad. Charles Hollis, grillmaster, beer guzzler, all around your typical macho-macho man. You aren’t looking forward to having to awkwardly explain to him that you like girls. He’d probably ask you all sorts of questions about how it worked and who you like and _ugh.  
_

You think about Mom. What she would say. She’d tell Dad to leave you alone. 

_Oh, calm down Charlie, at least Laura probably won’t get pregnant.  
_

You smile at the thought. Mom would want you to do it. 

More importantly, at least for your daily life, _Carmilla_ would. Even if she told you she doesn’t want to pressure you. 

If you’re going to do it though, you’d prefer to only have to do it once or twice. Which, in a small town, is pretty easy. You just need to tell enough people at once that it starts spreading by word of mouth. 

Which means, you need some help. 

LaFontaine, maybe? But whatever they suggest will involve fire. Their plans always have fire. 

Perry? But what can she do? Host a ‘Laura is gay’ bake sale? 

(Actually, that might be kind of fun.) 

Danny. 

She’s been your best friend since freshman year. She deserves to know first. 

You type her number in. 

“Uh, hey, Danny?” 

“Laura, hey! What’s up?” 

“Um. Not much. Want to come over? Dad is out, we can watch movies and you can bring over all the candy he doesn’t let me eat at home because it’s ‘not good for me.’“ 

You hear her laugh on the other end of the line. “Sure. I need a break anyway. This valedictorian speech is kicking my ass.”

“Danny, we haven’t even had finals yet.” 

“You know I’m going to be valedictorian, Laura.” 

True. 

_“_ Just…just come over and bring Reese’s.” 

Danny agreed and hung up. 

You wait at the door, nervously rubbing the sides of your jeans. Danny knocked on the door and you realized it was locked. You unlock it, and Danny is standing in front of you in–

“Danny, is that _Kirsch’s_ letterman jacket?” 

“Uh, yeah, why?” 

“You have your own.” 

Danny shrugs. “He left it at my house when he changed into his tux for prom. I put it on because I thought it was mine.” 

“Why was he getting changed at your–” 

“ _So,_ what do you want to do?” Danny holds up the bag of Reese’s candy. “I got the candy. You can help me write my speech, or we can see who can eat more of these in a minute…or, hey, I think Harry Potter Weekend is still–” 

“DANNY, I AM GAY. I AM SO GAY FOR MISS KARNSTEIN IT IS NOT EVEN FUNNY AND OH MY GOD WHY AM I YELLING I’LL STOP.” 

You don’t know why you blurted it out like that. You had a whole speech prepared. You even have notecards. But Danny kept talking and you just wanted to get it over with. 

For a moment Danny stares at you, shocked, before she sighs with relief. “Oh, _finally._ I was getting tired of pretending I didn’t notice.” 

“Wait, you _knew?_ For how long?” 

“Since we became friends?”

“ _Seriously?”  
_

 _“_ Laura, have you listened to yourself when you talk about Broadway actresses?” 

_“_ I have a lot to say about Christian Borle, that’s not true.” 

Danny smiles, raising an eyebrow. “Kelli O’Hara, though.” 

“She has been nominated _six times,_ she does not deserve to be snubbed again like she’s Leonardo DiCaprio or something, she was amazing in _The King and I_ and looked absolutely gorgeous in her costume and her British accent is– _oh.”_

You blush. “Okay. I see your point, I guess.” 

“Yeah. You know I have no problem with it, right? I mean, considering the fact that it would be _wildly_ hypocritical of me.” 

“So…you don’t think I’m a weirdo for having a crush on Miss Karnstein?” 

Danny gives you a hug. Her jacket smells like Kirsch. Ew. It was still nice though. “Hey, I’ll never think you’re a weirdo, Laura. A dork, yes. A nerd? Definitely. But never a weirdo. I mean, it’s not like she has a crush on you. That’d be weird.” 

You stiffen. Danny frowns and pulls away. 

“Laura, what are you not telling me?” 

You smile sheepishly. “I _may_ have been partially responsible for breaking up her and Miss Schraeder?” 

Danny tosses you the bag and walks past you. “You, me. Couch. Now.” 

* * *

 

You tell Danny everything you can think of–coming out to Miss Karnstein before Christmas, the whole rivalry with Ell, the forehead kiss before opening night, and of course her admitting to you that she liked you. You give it all to Danny in _excruciating_ detail. If she saw how much you both liked each other, Danny would totally agree with you, right? 

When you finish, Danny purses her lips for a moment. 

“Laura, she’s your teacher.” 

“But she’s _hot,_ Danny.” You groan. 

“Honestly, Laura, you sound like Kirsch. She. Is. Your. Teacher.” 

“She. Is. Also. Really. Awesome. And I told you, part of my plan is to wait until I graduate. So technically, she won’t be.” 

“Yeah. For a whole five minutes. _That’s_ not morally gray at all.” 

You grab a handful of Reese’s, unwrapping them and chewing. “Look, Danny, I like her and she likes me. It’s not her fault she has to work here to survive.” 

“Laura, I am just telling you that this is the kind of reasoning that ends with your faces on the 10 o’clock news.” 

“So, what, you won’t help me come out?” 

“So you can date your teacher? Hell no. As your friend I need to at the very least disapprove of your stupid decisions.” 

“Danny, I am doing this with or without you. And, you can either have my back and help me, or you can watch me make this ‘stupid decision’ on my own.” 

Danny looks conflicted. Finally, she sighs, unwrapping a Reese’s cup. 

“I guess I can at least do damage control. I am _not_ condoning the relationship, though. I just think coming out is good for you and I want to help my best friend.” 

“YES! I love you, Danny.” You hug her again, and Danny pats your back. 

“Man, first I had to figure out my speech, now I also need to figure out a way for you to come out to the entire school.” 

A lightbulb goes off. 

“Hey, Danny?” 

“Yeah?” 

“What if I told you that you could do both at once?”


	16. Laura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura’s POV of the kiss, because if you waited 28 chapters for it it’s only fair that you get to read it twice. See if anyone can catch the throwback to one of the other chapters.

As soon as you all leave the auditorium to head to the cafeteria your hands are shaking. It’s okay now, though. Everyone is talking about you, you can tell, but the ones who say something to you are nothing but supportive. 

“Dude, that was badass!” Kirsch said, slapping you on the back. Will awkwardly congratulated you. 

“Uh, Will, I’m sorry for leading you on…” 

“Well, if I get mad I’d be a douche, so…you know, good luck…?”

You pat him on the shoulder, thank him, and move on. 

Perry shrugs and says ‘good for you’. LaFontaine is thrilled and offers to be your ‘gay spirit guide’. You thank them for that, too. 

_Even though Carmilla has kind of been doing that for me…_

Last, but not least, you lock eyes with Dad from across the caf. 

“Dad–” 

Without warning you’re crushed into a bear hug. 

“Baby bear, I am so sorry.” 

You laugh. “Dad, for what?” 

“For not thinking you could tell me first. I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel safe.” 

“Daddy, I _did_ feel safe. It was just…y’know, awkward.” 

“Still. You know I love you, right?” 

“Of course.” 

“And your mother would have been okay with it, too.” 

All in all, it isn’t a terrible coming out. And you’ll certainly be remembered. 

“Laura!” Danny grabbed your arm. 

“Danny! What?” 

“I think Principal Morgan is looking for us.” 

Principal Morgan. Carmilla’s mom. _Carmilla.  
_

 _“_ Oh my God Danny, that can’t happen! You need to cover for me, okay? Tell my dad we’re going out tonight to celebrate.” 

“Laura–”

“Danny, I promise, you will never be required to help me with anything Carmilla related again.”

Danny heaved a deep sigh. “ _Fine._ I’ll take the hit.” She smirked. “Enjoy being gay.” 

“I will!” You answer, looking for Carmilla. You catch a glimpse of her walking out the door. 

Oh _no,_ you’re not waiting. You hitch up your gown and book it. 

“MISS KARNSTEIN!” You shout, slipping out the door, “Miss Karnstein, _wait!”  
_

Mercifully, she hears you and turns around. 

When you thought of this whole plan, you had hoped you’d be a little more suave, not running across the parking lot. “I…had to give your mom the slip…Danny helped me…whew…”

Carmilla smiled. “Laura, ten seconds to breathe?” 

You do. “So…what did you think of Danny’s speech?”

She runs a hand through her hair. God, that was sexy. “I don’t know what to think. How was the, uh, reaction?”

“Well, obviously, LaF was no judgement, and Perry, too,” You answer, “And my dad…I mean, I never thought he wasn’t going to accept me, I was just afraid he was going to start asking a bunch of questions, you know? He was surprisingly cool about it. I mean, it’s been great. I wish I did it sooner.”

“How long has Danny…?”

You shrug. “About a few weeks?” You copy Carmilla, taking the cap off and running a hand through your hair. Then you smile nervously. Here you go. “So…you are no longer my teacher. I just exploded out of the closet with a glitter bomb. What now?”

Carmilla’s smile grows wider before she gets serious again. 

“Laura, I told you I didn’t want to pressure you–”

“You didn’t. I chose to come out, Carmilla. I wanted to. I wouldn’t call you pressure, I would call you…” You bit your lip. “Inspiration. Incredible, fantastic inspiration.”

It was true. All she’s done is inspire you to do better, try harder, show yourself you’re not just a small town wannabe actress. And you want to make her realize she’s more than that, too. You go for broke.

“…Because I knew that, with that out of the way, you’d have no reason to tell me I couldn’t do this.”

You get closer, taking a nervous breath, staring intensely into her eyes. And then she starts to _laugh.  
_

“Are you–you’re laughing?”

She bursts into giggles. Carmilla can giggle? “No, no, Laura, I’m sorry–”

“I’m trying to be romantic, and you’re laughing.” You answer, hands on your hips.

“No! Not at you, it’s just that you’re trying so hard to be all serious and intense. It’s cute.”

“I’m not trying to be cute, I’m trying to be sexy.” You answer, trying to look serious. You put your cap back on, immediately regretting it, because the tassel falls into your eyes and you blow it out of your face. 

_Wow, Laura. Such adult. Much maturity.  
_

You’re half convinced she’s going to realize what a complete dork you are and leave it like this, when you’re surprised by a hand on your cheek. 

“Well, you’re not. You’re cute.” Carmilla smiled, and it is so warm, without any hint of sarcasm or edge of bitterness. You realize that you don’t think you’ve ever seen her smile like that before. “I like cute.”

You’re heart is beating so fast, and your brain is short circuiting, but you want to do _anything_ but think. 

You kiss Carmilla instead. 

It feels like you both decided to do it at the same time, because the moment you decide you’re going to lean in her other hand goes to the small of your back, pushing you the rest of the way.

It’s exactly what–no, _even more_ than you imagined it would be. You had no frame of reference. You’ve kissed boys before, brief attempts at forcing yourself to be something you weren’t, but you’ve never kissed a girl before. And Carmilla’s lips are so soft and the taste of her lipstick and her hand gently cupping your face…

Seriously, whywere girls _ever_ straight? 

“Mmm…” the noise comes out of the back of your throat without you meaning to, and she pulls away. 

_Oh God, I must have sounded like an idiot and now she regrets kissing me, I can’t even keep a girl for thirty seconds–_

“Laura, as much as I would like to continue this conversation, I do not want to be seen making out with you less than an hour after you stopped being a student at Silas. I can call you–”

Oh no. No no no no no _NO NO NO_ you cannot put a raincheck on _this._ But you got to say it a little more suavely than that. You cross your arms. 

“Oh no. You think I’m just going to leave after I get what I’ve wanted since, like, November? Not happening.”

She raises an eyebrow, tapping a rhythm on your upper arm. Each tap of her fingers makes your stomach flip-flop. “What do you propose we do? People are leaving  the school soon.”

That’s true. Think, Laura, _think._ Come on, you managed to date your hot twenty-two year old english teacher, you can make a plan for anything. 

Carmilla shifts her weight slightly, causing the ring of keys at her hip to jingle, and you grin. 

“Well…nothing. Unless someone happens to have a friend that your dad thinks you’re going to go out with to celebrate graduating…and unless someone happens too have keys to the auditorium where no one is.”

“So, you want to lie to your dad?” Carmilla asks with a smirk. You return it. 

“So that I can kiss you? Fair trade off. I think I’ve been more than patient.”

A huge, excited grin spreads across Carmilla face as she grabs your hand–there’s the flip flops in your stomach again–and you both start running. Some people leave the school. 

“Laura, quick!” She pushes you both behind some of the hedges that line the walkway leading up to the school. 

“Oh my God, you are acting like the teenager right now,” you whisper, giggling. Carmilla puts a hand over your mouth. 

“ _Shhh.”_ When the people are gone she gets up again, unlocking the door to the auditorium. She does a mock bow and makes a sweeping gesture. 

“After you.”  

“Gladly.”


	17. Laura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I’ve done a lot of Laura lately, but are you guys really complaining? Also, HOLLSTEIN TONY AWARDS DATE I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS.
> 
> Takes place the night after chapter 29.

You’re so nervous that she’ll blow off calling or texting you that you can barely eat the next day. You even have to hide the cookie Dad buys you since it’s a ‘special occasion’. Because if he sees you not eating cookies you’re sure he’ll get suspicious. 

He leaves for work; he takes the late shift sometimes and you’re stuck home. 

You know what? You are an _adult,_ dammit. You want to see Carmilla? Go and see her. You don’t need to wait for a call. And you know exactly what to do. You leave the house and call Carmilla on your cell phone. 

“Carmilla speaking.” 

“Carm, it’s Laura.” 

“Cupcake,” you hear her voice sounding lighter. It makes you smile. “How are you? I’m sorry, I’ve been so fucking busy. Cleaning out my classroom and everything.”

That sounds fake, but okay. 

“We should hang out tonight. My dad is going to be at work. And you know what tonight is, right?” 

“What?” 

“You are an actress, how do you not know? The Tony Awards! The biggest television event of the year!” 

Carmilla laughs. “Of course I know. Wow, you are really intense about it, huh?” 

“Yep. And you’re going to watch it with me.” 

There’s a pause at the other end. 

“Laura, if anyone knows you were in my house _alone…”_

 _“_ They’re going to think I went to a chinese restaurant. Besides, you might as well let me in _now.”  
_

 _“_ Why…?” 

“Because I’m standing outside your door.”

“ _What?”_ You hear footsteps and the door opens. Carmilla opens it to find you smiling nervously, holding a cup of coffee and a plastic bag. 

“…I brought snacks?” You say, holding up the plastic bag. “And coffee. I know you like coffee–”

You’re surprised by Carmilla pulling you in and giving you a kiss. “That was really stupid and risky. You better not have another choir waiting for me outside, Cupcake. ” 

“Nope. Tonight it’s a party of two.” You answer, putting the bag on the kitchen table. “Is the right channel on?” 

“You know it.” 

“Awesome. I am cooking for you.” 

“Cooking, eh? How house-wifey of you.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up and let me be a good girlfriend on our first official date. Sit.” 

Carmilla crosses her arms, looks at you, and sits on the couch. “Fine.” 

You make the only savory food you like almost as much as candy; jalapeno peppers filled with cheese and wrapped in bacon. You only make them a few times a year, and this is definitely one of those times. They’re done by the time the opening number starts. 

“Whoo!” You exclaim, hopping on the couch next to her with your snacks. Carmilla took a bag of potato chips and starts eating them by the handful. 

“I miss Neil Patrick Harris,” you announce. 

“Well, hey, at least their beginning is better than Hugh Jackman’s.” 

“What _was_ that beginning last year based off, anyway?” 

You look at each other and shrug. Carmilla pops a jalapeno in her mouth, nodding in satisfaction as ‘Something Rotten’ starts. You both laugh at all the references. 

When they announce ‘The King and I’ you put a hand over Carmilla’s mouth (she wasn’t talking). 

“BE QUIET, MY FUTURE WIFE IS ABOUT TO PERFORM.” 

Carmilla raises an eyebrow. As soon as Kelli opens her mouth, Carm snatches the remote away and mutes it. 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING.” 

“‘It’s a very ancient saying, but a true and honest thought. That if you become a teacher, by your pupils you’ll be taught. As a teacher I’ve been learning–you’ll forgive me if I boast–and I’ve now become and expert on the subject I like most…’” 

She smirks. “ _‘Getting to know you._ Getting to know you, getting to know all about you…’” 

She sings it to you perfectly, with a British accent, until Ruthie Anne Miles starts her song and she turns the volume back on. You stare at Carmilla, dumbfounded, until the commercial starts. 

“Carmilla… _wow…”  
_

She looks at you, shrugging and taking a sip of her coffee. “I _told_ you I played Anna once in a youth theatre production.”

She’s been keeping distance from you, like she’s still slightly uncomfortable about the whole couple thing. So, you move in a little closer. 

“That was so strangely attractive, you have no idea.” You put a hand on her cheek, waiting for her to see if she’d pull away. She doesn’t; she places a hand over your own, and you kiss her. 

“…Yeah, well, considering Kelli is taken, I thought I’d show you I’m not the worst second choice.” 

“First choice,” you say firmly, “ _Always_ my first choice.”

She smiles wistfully, kissing you again. “And you’re mine.” 

“I’m going to miss you _so much,”_ you breathe. You regret it immediately, because why ruin what has been a perfect first date with that, but instead of looking upset Carmilla just puts an arm around you. 

“I’ll miss you, too. Hey, Fun Home is on!”

She keeps sneaking glances over at you and smiling. You feel like she’s hiding something–but a _good_ something. Like a surprise. 

“Carm, what are you planning?” 

“Nothing. Can you believe this girl is only _eleven?_ It’s people like that that make me wonder what the Hell I’m doing with my life.” 

You’re more curious about it than worried, so you try and drop it and start belting Ring of Keys until Carmilla grabs a pillow and hits you. 

“Hey! You muted the TV for Kelli O’Hara!” 

“Yeah, and you made out with me for the entire commercial break for it.”

You snuggle into her side and keep watching, occasionally kissing the hand Carmilla intertwines with yours. 

When best actress in a musical is announced, you sit up. 

“COME ON KELLI! You’re not Leonardo DiCaprio!” You shout, punching into the couch pillow. 

“You are such a dork.” Carmilla mutters. 

“And the tony award goes to…Kelli O’Hara!” 

“YES!” You grab Carmilla and kiss her throughout Kelli’s acceptance speech. Carmilla raises her fists in the air. 

“I _knew_ it!” You exclaim when you finally let go. “And her speech was _so cute.”  
_

 _“_ I can see why you like her so much. You’re both cinnamon roll nerds.” 

“Shut up and let me enjoy this moment.” 

“You’d think _you’re_ the one who won a tony.” 

“When I do, you better believe I’ll dance offstage.” 

“Yeah, while I pretend I don’t know you.” 

You pretend to be mad at her until the tony awards end. 

“…I probably need to get home.” 

“You should. Can I walk you?” 

“‘Course not. Who’s going to mug me?” 

“It’s late, though.” 

“What happened to ‘not wanting to be seen together’?”

She sighs, walking you to the door. 

“This is the best first date I’ve ever had.” You say, placing a hand lightly on Carmilla’s arm. 

“Isn’t this the only first date you’ve had?” 

“Way to ruin the moment.” 

“Hey,” Carmilla kisses you, “It’s the best first date I’ve had, too. And I love how you treat the tony’s like it’s the superbowl. It’s adorable.” 

“Yeah…um, well, it’s way better. Obviously. I mean, when will Fun Home ever perform at halftime at the superbowl?” 

“True.” Carmilla pauses. “…We should go see it when we move to New York.” 

“Yeah, we–wait. _We?”_ Your eyes widen. “Carm–you–did–” 

Carmilla puts a hand to her heart. “Why, Laura, I didn’t tell you? I talked to Mattie. I’ve got a loan from her for a place.” She grins. “Betty gave me a verbal beating to talk some sense in me. I want to give us a shot, Laura. I’m coming with you.” 

You can’t even speak. She’s standing in front of you, smiling, and you rush forward to give her a hug, laughing with joy. 

“You’re coming with me! Oh my God, I need to help you find an apartment, we need to figure out if we’re going to travel together, we need to talk to my dad…man, that won’t be fun…but you talked to Mattie _for me._ You did for me and I just like you so much Carm–” 

You keep babbling like an idiot. Carmilla only raises a hand to the side of your head, holding you close with her eyes closed, laughing softly to herself.


	18. A Carmell oneshot (and a message for you guys)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, although the fic is over, I've decided to continue the TMC-verse as extras. I'll continue taking requests for stuff at my tumblr those-magic-changes.tumblr.com. Where these are all posted first, BTW. 
> 
> Fics are going to be a lot more all over the place in format, too. This one is in third person, I'll keep writing some in 2nd.

The house was quiet since Dad moved out. It seemed as good a time as any Carmilla would get to talk to her mother. She had sat Carmilla down that night and tried her rather awkward attempt at being understanding.

“I understand how difficult a divorce is, Carmilla, so if there is anything you need…” and she pat her on the head.

Yep, there would be no better opportunity than now to say something–which led Carmilla, the next morning, to knock on the door of Mother’s study.

“Mom?”

“Come in, darling.”

Carmilla stood in the middle of the room, looking at Mother, who was sitting at her desk doing paperwork. “Hey, Mother.”

“What can I do for you, Carmilla?”

“Remember what you said, yesterday? That I can talk to you about anything?”

“Yes…?”

Carmilla sat in the armchair in the corner of the room, rubbing her hands together. “Mom…I’m _gay.”_

She watched Mother carefully for a reaction. Her smile looked frozen on her face, eye twitching slightly.

“Don’t be _ridiculous,_ dear. You can’t be gay. Having a low opinion of men because of your father does not mean–”

_“No,_ Mom, that isn’t why I’m gay. I’ve known since I was ten. I didn’t tell you because I was scared–”

“That is enough of that talk, Carmilla,” Mother snapped, “You are not gay. You are confused, certainly, what with the divorce and everything that has gone on–but I raised nice, _normal_ children, do you hear me?”

Carmilla opened her mouth to speak, closed it, and opened it again. “…Yes, Mother. I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine, dearest. Now, give Mommy a hug.”

Carmilla got up begrudgingly, wrapping her arms around Mother’s waist quickly before pulling away. “I’m going to get dressed.”

Mother went back to her desk, and Carmilla started to leave.

“…And Carmilla?”

“Yes?” She asked, one hand on the doorframe.

“I’m not going to hear that you brought that up again at school, will I?”

“No, Mother,” Carmilla answered with gritted teeth.

“Good, now get ready for school.” She turned back to her desk, and Carmilla imagined all the things she would say to Mother if she didn’t have to live in this house. 

* * *

Carmilla was silent when she walked into the auditorium. Mrs. Spielsdorf found her eating her lunch on the stage.

“Carmilla, what are you–”

“I had a bad day, Mrs. Spielsdorf. Please?”

Mrs. Spielsdorf sighed. “Fine. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Talking about it might help.”

Carmilla crammed her sandwich in her mouth. Mrs. Spielsdorf rolled her eyes.

“Alright, suit yourself. I have to go do something in the back. Try not to vandalize anything while I’m gone.”

Carmilla sprawled out on her back, staring at the ceiling. Mrs. Spielsdorf didn’t even seem that thrilled to have her around–

“Mrs. Spielsdorf?”

Carmilla scrambled to sit upright. A girl was poking her head in the auditorium.

“Mrs. Spielsdorf, I have my–oh. Um, hi.”

Carmilla recognized her from a couple of classes. Ell had played ‘Nina’ freshman year in _In the Heights_ for a few weeks, but she had to drop out. A death in the family or something.

And, as if the universe wanted to mess with her today, she was also the only lesbian at Silas. Only _out_ one, anyway.

Ell held a music book to her chest with one hand, lips pursed slightly, twisting the end of her braid in her finger. “Um, hi. Carmilla, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I just came to return this music book Mrs. Spielsdorf gave me.” Ell said, holding it up.

Carmilla jerked her head toward the piano. “Go ahead, then.”

Ell walked over to the piano. “Why aren’t you at lunch?”

“Not your problem.” Carmilla answered curtly.

“Excuse me for being curious. You can ask me questions too, you know.” Ell put the book on the piano, “For instance, if you were wondering, I was borrowing a music book because I was looking for a song to sing for auditions Wednesday. Are you auditioning for _Rent?”_

Carmilla couldn’t help it. “Please,” she snorted, “Of course I am. I’m singing _Mama Who Bore Me.”_

“Oh, I love _Spring Awakening,”_ Ell said, “I’m doing _On My Own.”_

Carmilla tried to ignore her. She really did. But it was just too obvious to ignore.

_“On My Own? ON MY OWN?”_ Carmilla stood up and crossed her arms. “You amateur little cinnamon roll…no. Trust me. No.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It is rule number one of auditioning! Never do anything from Les Mis. _Ever.”_

“Okay, what do you suggest, oh expert?”

“Give me the book.”

“What?”

“Give it, come on.”

Ell looked at the piano. She grabbed the music book and climbed onto the stage, sitting next to Carmilla. “Okay.”

Carmilla grabbed the book, flipping through it. “Okay, here. _Come to Your Senses_ from _Tick Tick Boom_. Much better. Trust me.”

“How do I know you’re not just trying to make sure I have a bad audition?”Ell answered teasingly.

Carmilla looked at Ell. “Yes. Because I would not fit the role of Maureen better than you, otherwise.”

Ell laughed. “I’m trying for Joanne anyway.”

“Joanne?”

“Silas is as diverse as a bag of marshmallows, so…”

Carmilla smiled in spite of herself. “That’s true. Unless Mrs. Spielsdorf actually got Mel to do it.”

“Nope. We’re best friends. I tried to talk her into it–no luck.”

“Then you’re in the clear, then.”

“So…” Ell looked down at the lunch Carmilla spread out on the stage. “Now that you helped save my audition, can I try asking you again why you’re not in the lunchroom?”

Carmilla tensed up.

“Because, you know, I hate it in there, too,” Ell added hastily, “Especially when Principal Morgan is the lunch monitor. No offense, but your mom kind of scares me.”

“Believe me, she scares everyone. Including me.” Carmilla sighed. “That’s why I ate lunch in here. She’s kind of mad at me.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I’m Carmilla Karnstein, school delinquent. Why not?”

Ell’s gaze was soft and sympathetic. Carmilla wasn’t used to it; but she liked it. A lot.

“You’re not that bad.” Ell answered. She smiled. “You haven’t bit my head off yet.”

Her teeth were so white it was blinding. Carmilla was reminded that she was very, _very_ gay.

“Well, I may have admitted something to her this morning that she took…well, about as well as I expected, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

Ell’s mouth quirked to the side as she thought about what Carmilla said. Cautiously, she laid a hand on Carmilla’s shoulder.

“…My parents had a hard time when I first came out.” Ell said, “I mean, I know it’s probably not the same thing, but I bet you just need to give it time. And–and you know, your family is everyone you love, who loves you back. You don’t need her.”

Their faces were rather close together. Carmilla swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s not the same thing–”

“Girls?”

“Mrs. Spielsdorf!” Ell squeaked, scrambling to her feet, “Sorry, I came to return a book.”

Mrs. Spielsdorf walked onto the stage. “And you and Carmilla were…?”

“You always told me I should make more friends,” Carmilla said, standing, “No need to be so suspicious about it.”

“Friends?” Ell asked.

“Yeah.” Carmilla ran a hand through her hair. “Friends. Don’t make a big deal out of it, Cinnabon.”

Ell smiled warmly, hugging her. “I’ll see you later, then, Carmilla!”

Mrs. Spielsdorf raised an eyebrow when she saw Carmilla’s face flush. “Uh, yeah. See you.”

Ell ran out; Carmilla grabbed her stuff.

“Carmilla, what was that?”

“I don’t know, we talked, she doesn’t annoy me. Whatever. I did you a favor, Betty, she was going to sing Les Mis for auditions.”

“You talked? About what?”

“She asked me why I was in a bad mood.” Carmilla tried to step past Mrs. Spielsdorf, but she wouldn’t let her, putting a hand on her arm.

“Whoa, whoa, you actually talked to Ell? About feelings?”

“Shut up,” Carmilla snapped, turning red.

“Hey, I’m your teacher, you can’t tell me to shut up.”

“Then stop talking–we were just–look, lunch is pretty much over, goodbye!”

“I’m not letting you go until you tell me–”

“I’m gay, okay?” Carmilla snapped. Mrs. Spielsdorf was so shocked that her arm went slack, and Carmilla used it as her opportunity to leave.

“Ell and Carmilla…” Mrs. Spielsdorf grinned. “Oh my God, that would be adorable.”

Whistling, she put her hands in her pockets and sauntered backstage.  


	19. Carmilla and Her Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: How about Carmilla telling her Mother about Laura, and then Laura cheers her up

It was so stereotypical it was almost laughable. The single lightbulb, the room bare except for a table, the slightly wobbly chair–everything came straight out of an episode of Law and Order SVU.

“So…long time, no see. Hey, Officer Bill. Been awhile.” 

Ah, Officer Bill. Carmilla was a regular recipient of ‘warnings’ from him when she had been in high school. Other than a few extra grey hairs, he hadn’t aged a day. 

“I wouldn’t be quite so relaxed if I were you, Miss Karnstein. Especially since you’re looking at a stat charge.” 

Okay, so maybe Carmilla shouldn’t have laughed. But they expected the old, delinquent, bad girl Carmilla. It was a role Carmilla was familiar with, that she could hide behind. Why not give them what they want? 

“ _Please._ A stat charge? For what? I never touched that girl until she graduated. And I _certainly_ haven’t done anything with her that’d count as stat even if she _was_ seventeen.” 

Officer Bill sat down, steepling his fingers. “So, you’re telling me Miss Hollis was _not_ at your apartment last night?”

Carmilla shrugged. “We fell asleep on the couch after we watched the Tony Awards. Big fucking deal. We’ve been in a relationship for about…a little less than forty-eight hours.” 

“We are going through your cellphone right now, you know that?” 

“Go ahead. Only phone call I ever made was last night, when she came to my apartment to watch the Tony’s.” 

An officer walked into the room, whispered something into Bill’s ear, and handed him a paper. The officer’s brow furrowed as he read it. Carmilla arched an eyebrow. 

“Let me guess…those are phone records that are saying _exactly_ what I just told you?” 

“That doesn’t make what you did right,” he snapped. 

“No, but it does make it consensual and, more importantly, _legal._ If you’ll excuse me–” Carmilla got up, Officer Bill held out an arm. 

“Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere.” 

Carmilla’s cocky smile wavered. “But–but you’ve got nothing to hold me on! This has ‘civil rights violation’ written all over it!” 

“Actually, someone who’s dealt with the police as much as you have should know that we can’t hold you for more than twenty-four hours without charging you.” He grinned. “And you’ve only been here for two hours.” 

“That isn’t fair!” 

“No, but it is, more importantly, _legal.”_ He answered, taking out handcuffs. 

Okay, Carmilla had to admit, she _did_ walk into that one. 

##  ***********

Carmilla hadn’t spent a night in jail since sophomore year when she got caught sneaking out of the house after curfew to visit Ell. She remembered it being very cold, very dank, and all around unpleasant. 

It was about what she remembered. 

Officer Bill walked in. “You have a visitor.” 

There was no way Laura’s father would let her see Carmilla. Betty already got on a plane home. Which meant, it was probably Ell. 

Wow, that was awkward. 

“…Okay, I guess I don’t really have a choice, but bring her in.”

Carmilla heard the click of her stilettos before she saw her. 

“Oh _, fuck.”  
_

 _“_ It is nice to see you too, Carmilla.” Mother said, “Officer, I’d like a few minutes alone with my daughter.”

He left. Carmilla sat down against the wall, as far away from Mother as possible. 

“Mother, did I tell you that I’m putting in my two weeks’ notice?” 

“So, what? You can move back to New York with that girl? Like some sort of pervert?”

“You know what?” Carmilla got up. Walked forward and clutched the bars of the cell. “I bet you wish they could charge me for this. Punish me for not being the nice ‘normal’ daughter you keep telling me I should be. Is that what you want?” 

Mother took a step back. “Do you…do you really think I want this? To finally have my daughter back, and then get a phone call that she’s being held in a cage like some sort of…of… _animal?”_

There was something in her eyes that made Carmilla take a step back. And all of a sudden she felt like she understood something that was in plain sight all along.

“…Oh my God. You’re scared.” 

“What?” 

“Of being alone. I left New York to be with Ell, and I’m leaving again to be with Laura. And that _terrifies_ you, doesn’t it?” 

Carmilla remembered being so scared of her when she took a step forward and squared her shoulders, almost like a charging bull. It lost so much power now. And it wasn’t just the bars between them. 

“Your _sister_ left me. Your _father_ left me–us–they didn’t think I could have children of my own! And then I had you. My glittering girl, my only real child. How do you expect me to feel when you’re running off too?” 

She reached through the bars and gently brushed some hair away from Carmilla’s face. “I see so much of myself in you, my darling. I failed you in so many ways–why else would you be doing this?” 

Carmilla had never felt so much pity and anger at the same time. 

“You didn’t _fail_ me,” she snapped, throwing the hand away, “Your bad parenting is not the reason I am gay, it’s not the reason I fell for Ell, it isn’t the reason I went to New York, and it’s _certainly_ not the reason I am going back with Laura. If your idea of ‘normal’ is divorced, miserable, and alone, I would rather be a pervert. And you know what? They will be letting me out in a few hours, and in a little less than two weeks, you’ll never see me again. _That_ is because of your parenting.” 

“…That’s what I thought.” Mother’s hands fell to her sides, and she looked at the door. “Officer!” 

The door opened. 

“I would like you to release my daughter. Please.” 

“Mom?” 

She looked at her. “I don’t agree with anything you are doing. But no daughter of mine is a criminal. And I _certainly_ don’t believe that you had sex with a student. You are many things, but you are not an idiot.” 

The officer walked over and, under Mother’s glare, unlocked the cell.

* * *

 

“…And then we looked at each other, and I walked out.” 

“You didn’t say anything?” Laura asked, smiling softly through the computer screen. 

“No.” 

“Well, thank God you got out of there.” 

“Yeah…” 

Laura’s mouth quirked to the side. “Hey, I’m sorry.” 

“She…look, I know it’s so fucking ridiculous, but she said she was _proud_ of me right after graduation. For one day she felt like I wasn’t a complete screw up. And today she called me a pervert. It’s just frustrating. I shouldn’t care, but I do.”

“Hey, Carm,” Laura whispered. Carmilla sighed. “Hey, it’s okay. She cared enough to get you out, didn’t she?” 

“Yeah, because she’s worried about her precious reputation.” 

“Well–well you know what? My mom always said ‘your family is everyone you love, who loves you back’.” 

“Oh, really.” Carmilla said dryly. Laura shook her head. 

“Yeah! I mean…your family is Mrs. Spielsdorf, and Mattie, and LaF, Danny, Kirsch, Perry–even Ell–and, you know, me of course.” Laura blushed slightly, “All of us, _we_ care about you, and we know who you are. Your Mom doesn’t. She’s too worried about how you make her look.” 

Carmilla smiled warmly, taking her hand and placing it lightly on the screen. “You have no idea how much I wish you were in the room with me right now.” 

“I do too.” Laura said, blushing even deeper, “If it makes you feel any better, Dad believes me about waiting until I graduated. He’s still not happy about it, but he’s not going to try and get you arrested.” 

“That’s good at least?” 

“I _may_ have used the whole ‘surprise, I’m gay’ thing to guilt him into it, though.” She finished, smiling sheepishly. 

“Hey, whatever it takes.” 

“Let’s talk about something else.” Laura leaned in closer, “Tell me about New York. What’s the first thing we’ll do?” 

Carmilla told Laura stories about the city until they both fell asleep at their computer desks.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Alright, I'm loving Carmell more and more. Could you maybe write them trying to learn the dance to 'take me or leave me' I think it would be hilarious to see Betty choreographing the dance and LOSING HER MIND BECAUSE SHE SHIPS THEM!!

Carmilla stomped into the auditorium after school, clutching the paper Mrs. Spielsdorf had stuck to the school bulletin. 

“ _Goddammit,_ Mrs. Spielsdorf!” 

Mrs. Spielsdorf crossed her arms, leaning against the stage. “Carmilla, I am your friend, but I am also your teacher. Watch your language. What’s the problem? I thought you wanted to be Maureen.” 

She held the paper up, pointing to it. “You know what I’m referring to. Ell?” 

“What’s wrong with her?” 

“Well–well–she’s paler than me, with blonde hair and blue eyes, for one thing.” 

“And if Mel had auditioned, I would have taken that into account, but Silas is unfortunately not known for its racial diversity, Carmilla. And technically Joanne doesn’t _have_ to be African American.” 

“Well…I mean…I just don’t want to do the show with her.” 

“Why not? I thought you were both _friends.”_ Carmilla caught Mrs. Spielsdorf’s smirk and shook her head. 

“Don’t you _dare,_ Mrs. Spielsdorf. I don’t like this. And I don’t like her!” 

“Tell you what,” Mrs. Spielsdorf answered, “Tell me who you think I should replace Ell with, and she is gone. I’ll wait.” 

Carmilla glared at her for a few long moments before going to sit down. 

She did _not_ have a problem with being gay. She really didn’t. Being in the closet was the unfortunate result of being forced to live with her homophobic mother. Anyone else could go jump off a bridge if they had a problem with it, as far as she was concerned.  Especially considering that she was in the gayest profession in the world…

No, what she didn’t want to accept was that she was gay for _Ell,_ of all people. The girl was such a cinnamon roll, she probably lived in a bakery. She was the real life Cinderella. Future homecoming queen. 

Having a crush on Ell would go against everything Carmilla stood for: good, wholesome values.

Carmilla kept repeating that to herself mentally when Ell sat down next to her. 

“Hey, Carm!”

“Ell. Hey.” 

She was startled by Ell giving her a hug. 

(seriously, what was it with this girl and _hugs?)  
_

(and what was it with Carmilla not pulling away from them?) 

“I _knew_ you’d get Maureen, Carmilla, you are the most talented person I know.”

“Thanks, Cinnamon Roll. You got Joanne, I see?” 

“I know! I’m so excited, it’s my first lead. And hey, about that…” Ell pulled away. Carmilla frowned at the lack of hugging. 

Purely, of course, because the auditorium was kind of chilly. Ell raked her hands through her bangs, smiling nervously. 

“Look, I know you’re _the_ theatre person so I hope you won’t be too impatient with me, alright?”

She was so nervous, why must she be so cute when she was nervous? 

“Whatever.” Carmilla answered, with a little less bite than she would have liked. “Let’s just get this over with.” 

“Okay, everyone,” Mrs. Spielsdorf said, clapping her hands together, “Welcome to another year of bringing Broadway to Silas, Nebraska!” 

Silence. 

“…And getting to count this as an elective grade.”

Everyone clapped. 

“We have a _lot_ to do, so we’ll get started. Best place to start is the beginning, right? Everyone, get onstage. We’re going to run through ‘Seasons of Love’.” 

Everyone got up. Ell practically jogged onto stage like a puppy. Carmilla got up lazily and stood next to her. 

Casual, Carmilla. Just look casual. No one will suspect–not that there was anything to suspect. 

“Alright guys, we all know the lyrics. Let’s just do a run through to have fun.” Mrs. Spielsdorf crackled her knuckles and played the song on the piano. 

“…Ready for your part, Cinnabon?” Carmilla whispered, nudging Ell. She looked terrified. “Seriously, it’s just a solo at the first rehearsal. _You got this.”  
_

Ell smiled at Carmilla, took a step forward from the line, and sang. 

_“Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes!_

_Five hundred twenty-five thousand journeys to plan…_

_Five hundred twenty -five thousand six hundred minutes,_

_How do you measure the life of a woman or a man?”_

Ell high fived Carmilla when the song was over. “That was so much fun! Can we do the song again?” 

Carmilla couldn’t help but smile at her. “We need to do the read through first–but hey, we’ve got plenty more opportunities to hear you sing.”

Mrs. Spielsdorf passed out scripts. Carmilla and Ell sat next to each other. The next two hours were spent doing the read through, Carmilla actually _enjoying_ her co-star for once. 

When it was over, Ell giving Carmilla another hug before she left, Carmilla gave Mrs. Spielsdorf another glare. 

“What are you smiling about?” 

“Nothing. I just think it’s cute that she’s almost a foot taller than you.” 

“ _Cute?_ Mrs. Spielsdorf, I’m begging you. Don’t make this a thing. Because it won’t be a thing. She thinks I’m straight. Besides, have you talked to her lately? We’re total opposites.” 

“Opposites attract.” Mrs. Spielsdorf said with a shrug. 

“Oh, how original. Shipping the only two gay kids in the school.” 

“I never said anything about shipping. It’s just nice to see someone making you _happy_ for once.” 

Carmilla crossed her arms. “Just… _please_ don’t make a thing out of this.” 

Mrs. Spielsdorf held up her hands. “Fine. But you are going to hate me tomorrow, then.” 

“Why…?” 

“Have you looked at the schedule?” 

Carmilla didn’t. When she went home she checked online. 

“… _Dammit,_ Mrs. Spielsdorf.”

* * *

“Carmilla, are you okay?” Ell asked. 

Carmilla looked up from staring at her tuna sandwich. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You seem distracted,” Ell answered. She tilted her head to the side, concerned. Before Carmilla could answer, Mel sat down next to her. 

“Hey, Ell. Short, pale, and broody joining us for lunch _again?”  
_

“It’s a free country, short, dark, and misanthropic,” Carmilla drawled. 

“Um, Mel, Carmilla is right…kind of. Carmilla is my best friend, she’s not ‘joining us’. She sits here.” 

“ _Seriously?_ She’s your best friend?” 

Carmilla would have said something sarcastic, but frankly, she was thinking the same thing. Ell shrugged. 

“I have this amazing ability to like more than one person at a time, Mel.” Ell teased, “Now, back to what I was saying. Carm, what is wrong?” 

Nothing. Except that now Carmilla was suddenly very happy in spite of herself. “Like your friend said. I’m just broody.” Ell rested her chin in her hand, looking at Carmilla. Then she smiled. 

“…I think I know what’s wrong.” Ell reached into her brown paper bag and pulled out a black-and-white cookie.  “I would be grumpy too if I had nothing to eat but a tuna sandwich. And half moons _happen_ to also be the most sharable of cookies.” 

She smiled, breaking it in half and holding out the black part to Carmilla.

Seriously, _why_ was she so nice? “Don’t do me any favors, Cinderella.” 

“Come _on,_ it’s the least I can do for my stage girlfriend,” Ell said with a smirk. 

Carmilla tried to convince herself annoying Mel was the reason Carmilla leaned in and took a bite of the cookie while it was still in Ell’s hand. 

“You’re right, this _is_ good.” Carmilla answered. She caught Ell blushing. Mel raised an eyebrow. _Now_ Carmilla wanted to leave. “…And, with that, I take my leave.” 

“What? Why?” 

“Principal’s daughter. If I got free reign of the school, I take advantage. See you later, Cinnabon.” 

“I’ll see you at rehearsal, Carmilla!” Ell called after her, looking slightly disappointed. As soon as Carmilla left the lunchroom, she leaned against the wall. 

Right. Rehearsal. _Take Me or Leave Me._ Just great. 

* * *

“Okay, girls, you both ready to get started?” Mrs. Spielsdorf asked. 

Carmilla sat back in her seat, arms crossed. Ell had her hands folded in her lap. 

“I have a question,” Carmilla asked, “Isn’t it a little early to be doing _this_ number? For the second rehearsal, I mean?” 

Mrs. Spielsdorf smiled. “Well, I find in shows like these, I try and get the same-sex couples out of the way first. It’s hard enough getting stage chemistry between a guy and a girl, you know? When it happens to be two girls and one is _straight…”_ She looked at Carmilla pointedly. 

Carmilla’s jaw set. “Point taken.”

“Good. Now let’s go, girls! This is the biggest number in the show for the both of you–especially _you,_ Ell. Carmilla has Over The Moon, too. Got your scripts?” 

“Definitely. I think I got the song memorized.” Ell said. 

“I got it memorized.” Carmilla answered. Ell looked at her. 

“You memorized your lines _already?”  
_

Carmilla grinned at her. “Aspiring professional, baby. Plus I think I came out of the womb singing ‘Seasons of Love’.”

Ell smiled nervously, getting up to go stand on the stage. Mrs. Spielsdorf had already procured a table with benches–’purely for rehearsal purposes until we get the real ones’–and Ell sat on the table. Carmilla joined her. 

“Okay, girls, let’s take it from the top. I’ll read Mark’s lines. As for the choreography…let’s see how you two improv, and I’ll see what I have to work with.” 

Carmilla sat next to Ell. 

“Maureen and Joanne are rehearsing.” Betty started. 

“I said, once more from the top!” Ell exclaimed. Carmilla looked at her. 

“I. Said. NO!” 

“…That is if they’re still speaking this week.” 

“The line is ‘cyberarts and its corporate sponsors grave communications would like to mitigate the Christmas Eve riots.’ _What_ is so difficult?“ Ell read. 

Carmilla crossed her arms, standing on the table. “It doesn’t roll off my tongue. I like my version!” 

“You, dressed as a groundhog, to protest the ground breaking…?” 

“It’s a _metaphor!”  
_

“It’s less than brilliant,” Ell quipped. 

Carmilla could see Mrs. Spielsdorf nodding, satisfied with the rapid-fire delivery.

“That’s it, Miss Ivy League!” Carmilla exclaimed. She stood on the table; it felt right, and Mrs. Spielsdorf didn’t have a problem with it, so she kept going.  

“What…?” Not angry enough for Ell, but okay. 

“Ever since New Year’s I haven’t said ‘boo’. I let you direct. I didn’t stay and dance at the club that night because _you_ wanted to go home!” 

“You were flirting with–” 

“ _Angrier,_ Ell!” Mrs. Spielsdorf shouted. 

“You were _flirting_ with the _woman in rubber!”_ Ell snapped, getting up from her seat and looking up at Carmilla. 

_God, she looks cute–_

No. _NO._ Carmilla shook her head. 

“There will always be women in rubber flirting with me. Give me a break.” Carmilla answered, switching tactics and trying to sweet talk her. Mrs. Spielsdorf was playing the rehearsal CD. As soon as the music started, she got more comfortable. 

Here, onstage, she was in her element. She was an actress. She wasn’t Carmilla–she was Maureen. And Ell wasn’t Ell–she was Joanne. 

And, maybe, she could pretend her feelings for Ell weren’t _her_ feelings. 

(Honestly, pretending she wasn’t herself was part of the reason Carmilla loved acting so much–but of course she would never admit it. Not even to Mrs. Spielsdorf.)

She jumped off the table, grabbing Ell’s hands and settling them on her waist. 

“Every single day, I walk down the street. I hear people say ‘baby’ it’s so sweet. Ever since puberty, everybody stares at me–” 

Ell threw her hands off, trying to walk away. Carmilla cut her off. “Boys, girls, I can’t help it, baby!” Carmilla put Ell’s hand on her waist, taking the other one and raising it as though they were dancing. Mrs. Spielsdorf was smiling. 

“So be kind, and don’t lose your mind. Just remember, that I’m your baby…” 

Ell looked like a deer caught in headlights. Carmilla honestly didn’t know if she was acting. She hoped Ell would remember to, you know, come in on her part…

But not important right now; Carmilla kept singing, walking forward slowly and backing Ell up. 

“Take me for what I am. Who I was meant to be…” Ell hit the edge of the table. Carmilla started to get a little bolder. She grabbed her hands, leaning in. 

“And if you give a damn, take me baby–” Carmilla threw her hands away and turned, smirking. “–Or leave me.” 

Carmilla jumped onto the table. She was having _fun_ now, getting Ell all flustered, watching her scrambling to turn and watch her. 

Okay, she was convinced Ell was _not_ in character at all. But Carmilla was too busy  enjoying herself–and Ell staring at her and blushing–to care about the quality of her scene partner. 

And, when she got to the chorus a second time, she thought it would be fun to sit–Ell was facing the audience, back against the table, Carmilla standing above her–and put her hands on her shoulders. She was grinning, leaning in close to Ell’s ear. 

“…Kiss, pooky?” She teased. 

Ell didn’t totally dropped her line and didn’t come in. She felt Ell placing a hand on the side of Carmilla’s cheek, totally frozen. 

Their faces were also very, _very_ close together. And Ell’s lips were slightly parted and–

Carmilla was very afraid of what she was going to do if they kept staring into each others’ eyes. Carmilla tore her gaze away a stood up. 

“ _Shit,_ Ell, pay attention for your cue!” 

“Carmilla–” Mrs. Spielsdorf said, the warning in her voice clear. 

“Sorry–sorry, but–you know, you cast an amateur, and she can’t even pick up on a line while she’s holding a script.” 

She was being irrational, she knew it, but anger was an emotion Carmilla was familiar with. 

“Carmilla, I’m sorry.” Ell said softly. Carmilla couldn’t look at her. 

“I’m taking five–I need some throat coat.” Carmilla growled. She jumped off the stage and walked into the dressing room, grabbing her backpack along the way. 

She sat down, taking her thermos out of her pack. She wasn’t coming down with a cold, but she needed some sort of excuse to get out of there. 

She was _Carmilla Karnstein._ The loner, the one who contemplated with advanced pessimism, the girl who didn’t give a shit about anything. She would not, _could not_ give a shit about Miss Fairy Princess of all people–

“Carmilla?”

“Ell, go away.” 

She stood in the doorway, holding a box of candy in her hands. “I–I didn’t want to follow you, but Mrs. Spielsdorf wanted me to check up on you. She said–” 

“What did she say?” Carmilla said, sitting up straighter. Ell took a step back, looking down at the floor. 

“Just that I shouldn’t take it personally, you’re just…guarded.” 

“Yeah, well.” 

“I also kind of wanted to apologize.” 

“Apologize…?” 

“I–I mean–it’s no secret that you’re _Carmilla Karnstein_ and you’re the hottest girl in school–what I’m trying to say–I didn’t mean to touch your face like that and make you uncomfortable. I know it has to beawkward doing a scene like that with a girl and–and you know, I should have let you control all of the touching and set the boundaries. But hey,” Ell shook the box of candy, “I brought you lemonheads as a peace offering? They’re good for the voice.” 

She looked so nervous, so sorry, and so embarrassed, that Carmilla couldn’t just let Ell think this was _her_ fault. 

“…Ell, come here. You’re really lucky I like lemonheads.” 

Ell smiled, and sat next to Carmilla on the floor, cross legged. She poured some candy into her hand. 

“Ell, doing that scene with you is not any more uncomfortable for me than doing a scene with a guy. There isn’t a difference–there shouldn’t _be_ a difference. You know who thinks there’s a difference?” 

Ell shook her head. 

“My mother. My mother does. And I want to be nothing like my mother. _Please_ don’t think I have any problem with you being gay, Ell. Trust me. I don’t. I’m just in a pissy mood and overreacted to you dropping a cue.”

Ell breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God. I’ve lost a lot of friends because they thought I might be crushing on them.” 

“Well, even straight girls have crushes on me, Cinnabon,” Carmilla teased, bumping shoulders with her, “Unfortunately, you’re going to have to do a lot worse to get rid of me.” 

Ell smiled. “Then you’ll have to be stuck with me, then.” Ell took off the glasses she was wearing, looking at them. “Hey, you want to know something?” 

“What?” 

“I don’t wear glasses. I just thought it would make me look more lawyer-y.” 

Carmilla rolled her eyes. “ _Brilliant_ character work.”

Ell laughed. “Yeah. Lemonhead?” 

“Sure.” 

Ell was about to give one to her when she pulled her hand away. “Want to play a game? Open your mouth.” 

Carmilla did. Ell stuck her tongue out slightly in concentration, throwing a lemonhead. It landed in Carmilla’s mouth. 

“Nice!” 

Carmilla swallowed. “My turn.” She grabbed a lemonhead and threw it at Ell. 

Except, it hit her in the eye. 

“OW!” 

“Shit, Ell, you alright?” 

“…Yeah. Yeah. Oh, man, I think I scratched my cornea or something.” 

“Well, come on, I’ll walk you out.” 

She helped Ell up, letting Ell put an arm around her shoulders and cover her eye with her other hand. 

“Ell, I am _so sorry.”_

“It’s okay,” Ell grinned, “What’s a scratched cornea among friends?” 

Carmilla smiled back. “Yeah. Friends.” 

**Author's Note:**

> If you are reading this and it makes no sense, that means you probably haven't read my fic Those Magic Changes. You should do that. 
> 
> Also, follow those-magic-changes on tumblr: the extra content is posted there first.


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